A Comedy Of Errors
by Malaia
Summary: Ilina was particularly excited when the traveler asked for help. After days of darkspawn, darkspawn, bandits and darkspawn, she was ready to see real people; friendly people. -- Thank you so much for my beta
1. Chapter 1

The Most Unlikely Grey Warden, Ever!

Chapter 1 "The Grey Warden dies here!"

Ilina was particularly excited when the traveler asked for help. After days of darkspawn, darkspawn, bandits and darkspawn, she was ready to see real people; _friendly_ people. People who said "thank you" and not "Grarrrr" or "We're collecting a toll". _Finally, a chance to save someone, _she thought as they followed the woman. And this was why Ilina wasn't thinking _ambush_, when they were lead into the cleft of a nearby hill with one exit. She was thinking _Oh, doesn't this look like some huge giant scooped the side of this hill with his tongue_? And when she saw the elf at the apex of the gap, she wasn't thinking _assassin_, she was thinking _Oh, I wonder how he gets his hair to look so soft_.

Then suddenly a tree was falling out of nowhere, narrowly missing her, and Alistair was screaming "trap" and she wasn't thinking about tactics. Instead she was glaring at Alistair and thinking, a_nd I bet he **still** makes me lead after this_.

"The Grey Warden dies here!" the elf pronounced and Ilina was incensed - for Alistair's sake. Previously unseen assassins began appearing on all sides of her small band, popping out of bushes and from behind carts.

Ilina began to count them, slowly, from her position near the fallen tree.

Alistair let out a war cry and ran full-bore into the head assassin and two henchmen.

Ilina lost count and glared at Alistair's back.

Leliana called out to the maker and readied her bow, pinning one away from Alistair.

Ilina threw out a heal to Alistair, who'd been grazed by an arrow, and lost count.

Hildegard attacked like the ferocious war dog she was, and Ilina wasn't sure if she should count the one Hildegard had in her teeth, so she lost count.

Then the arrow zinged by her ear, and Ilina gave up counting. Alistair suddenly began barking orders and her shoulders sagged in relief.

When at least two of the assassins headed straight for her, her eyes grew wide and it was all she could do to scramble up and run behind Alistair.

Somehow she managed to keep everyone healed between dodging arrows, screaming and pointing at Alistair's back, "Aiee! Him! _H__im_, not me! Big Grey Warden, heavy armor."

When it was all over, she acknowledged everything except the disbelieving stares of Alistair and Leliana. Hildegard just whined and licked her palm. Well what did they want? She was a healer and a _mage_. Getting poked by daggers was decidedly less painful for those lugging about great shiny silver _metal_ armor. She was just about to list those facts aloud when a low moan rose up from the leader of the ambush. Walking over to where he lay prone, Ilina cocked her head. When he looked up, she lost all train of thought.

Tummy flip.

Did he say something?

"…or rather not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet."

Ilina stared. Brown eyes - or hazel, maybe.

"Ow!" She looked accusingly at Alistair who'd poked her in the ribs. "What?"

He nodded towards the elf on the ground.

"What am I … Oh, fine!" _Can't_ _find my way out of a paper bag, but I'm supposed to interrogate an assassin_, she thought. "I have some questions," _Like what happens if I just kissed the tips of those pointy little ears_.

"Oh so I'm to be interrogated, am I? Let me save you the trouble. My name is Zevran - Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly."

_Zevran_, she thought, _with the most amazing hazel eyes and the most gorge--- **and he was brought to do what**?_

"Well I'm rather happy you failed!" she said, indignant.

"So would I be, in your shoes!" He actually grinned.

_Our four men killed his entire assassin crew, and he must be concluding that we're going to kill him, as well_; _yet he grins_. _Brave or suicidal?_, she wondered as she considered him. "Who hired you?"

"A rather taciturn fellow in the capital; his name was Loghain, I believe."

She looked at Alistair, alarmed. He was glaring at the Crow.

"And now if you're done interrogating me, I have a proposal for you." He was no doubt about to ask for his life. She should stop him really, since she had no intention of killing him. But…proposal? This she had to hear.

"I'm listening. Make it quick," she said, trying to look tough.

She granted he made a great case for joining their merry little band. Lockpicking, stealth and …_oh, bed-warming_. Not that she was thinking about the bed-warming. No. _Lockpicking_! _That was what they needed. Stealth and lockpicking_.

"You must think I'm royally stupid," she scoffed.

"I think you're royally tough to kill and utterly gorgeous."

_Did he say gorgeous_? She felt a giggle build up in her throat. _Shhh,_ she rebuked, _Grey Wardens do not giggle_! _Of course, Grey Wardens also don't hide behind trees pointing at other members of their party to avoid attack, either, _she noted_. They also probably didn't carry on full conversations in their head for so long that they miss an entire conversation, causing the every member of their party, and one elf assassin, to stare at them expectantly… like now, for instance. Drat, what did she miss_?

"There are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess." And then the giggle burst forth. She covered it (successfully, too, she thought) with a cough.

"Very well, I accept your offer."

Alistair did not take that well. But if _Alistair_ didn't like it then _Alistair_ could suck an egg because _Alistair_ didn't want to take charge so he just left it all up to _her_! _And what kind of look did the Antivan just give to Leliana?_ she fumed. _Well, Leliana could just go wait at the camp_.

She put her hand out and helped Zevran to his feet.

Zevran laid his hand against his chest and bowed slightly. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservations…this I swear."

Ilina nodded regally in response, turned and tripped over a branch, landing face first into the tree she'd avoided earlier.


	2. Chapter 2

A special thanks to my beta *hugs*, you're not getting her name because she's mine mine mine! If you find any errors, they're due to my ineptitude at following instructions, not anything she did. (if you find any errors please tell me where so i can correct them =)). Thanks for the awesome reviews! Geez fixed a few errors on chapter 2 =) if you catch anymore please tell me!

* * *

The night sky was magnificent, despite the random grey clouds. Ilina was laying her head on Hildegarde's strong shoulders and wondering how only the moon lit the night when so many stars must surely be able to outshine the sun.

The night was her favorite time. It seemed she could live in denial in their small encampments; pretending there weren't any darkspawn and that Alistair and Leliana were her siblings and Sten was their dad. Morrigan was best left ignored during these idealistic moments. The night cloaked the world in mystery and wonder and Ilina just wanted to live in that mystery, because the truth was too terrible to contemplate.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "One day, Hilde, we'll have a home again." She whispered.

"Woof," Hildegarde responded softly.

The smell of freshly cooked goop wafted under her nose, making her stomach turn. They really ought to ban Alistair from cooking duties. She was starving, but the idea of eating another grey colored variation of pasty (or watery), stew made her envy darkspawn. She hadn't eaten much since Alistair had taken to stirring the pot, literally. Suddenly something heavenly drifted by her nostrils causing them to flare.

Rolling over, she spotted Zevran cutting and eating something near his tent. He was sitting cross-legged using a dagger to slice off bits of…_cheese_! Oh heavenly, dreamy, yummy, _edible_ cheese! She bit her bottom lip and watched as he cut another piece.

* * *

Zevran looked up and caught the Grey Warden's eyes looking longingly at his meal. He wondered if she knew that she had the exact same expression as the dog. An image of her crawling over and begging for a piece of cheese caused a twitch in his loins. A smile formed as he cut another slice and held it out for her. To his disappointment, instead of crawling, she got up and walked, sitting on her heels in front of him.

She took the slice from his hand and murmured a thank you and popped it in her mouth. His tongue touched his upper lip as he watched her chew slowly with her eyes closed. When she lifted a finger and slowly sucked the tip he nearly pushed her down on the ground and ravished her then and there.

He wasn't just being flattering earlier when he called her beautiful - she was exquisite. She also seemed completely unaware, or unconcerned, of the fact. He suspected it was a little of both. Her delicate hair was cut shorter than most women, with tiny braids and small green and blue ribbons tucked here and there. Her eyes were a clear green with flecks of gold. They radiated innocence. _She_ radiated innocence. But it was her lips that fascinated him the most. Two perfect pink buds from the front, but from the side her upper lip protruded just slightly. He wanted to take it in his mouth and suck it as she had her finger. He looked back up to her eyes to find them staring at him, wide with trepidation.

He grinned.

She squeaked.

Just when he was sure she was going to flee, her stomach rumbled. If possible, her eyes grew even wider. He marveled that anyone in this time could blush that fiercely.

Somewhere deep inside, the tiniest piece of his carefully constructed armor was dented.

* * *

He was staring at her lips so intently that Ilina felt like a pastry about to be devoured. She should leave, but then her treacherous stomach rumbled just as she made the decision to do just that. She closed her eyes as her face heated. _Grey Wardens do not blush_!, she thought desperately, adding another mark on her list of "Ilina's Grey Warden Failings". She opened her eyes prepared to see him laughing at her, but instead he wore an unreadable, dark expression.

She lowered her gaze to watch his lean, long fingers glide over the handle and blade, expertly slicing another piece of cheese. Her mind wandered picturing those stroking her cheek or touching her hair. She wondered if he cared that her skin was probably rough from days on the road.

She raised her face to his again and saw his pupils had gone almost black. He was holding the cheese slice out towards her but when she reached for it he drew his hand back. He mimicked opening his mouth and held the cheese aloft.

As she stared at the cheese he offered, Ilina began silently recounting the list of very un-Warden-y deeds she'd compiled the past few weeks. And because she wasn't about to compile another - and because she was tired of being afraid, and because the proper Grey Warden-y thing to do when confronting danger was to face it head on - she did. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth and when he set the cheese in her mouth she bit down in what she thought was a very seductive manner…

"Ai!" Zevran was rubbing his finger and looking at her with accusing eyes.

Ilina's eyes grew wide and she blinked. Before she could open her mouth to apologize, the assassin's eyes reduced to slits and his mouth curled in the most raffish way. Her eyebrows rose and she began to lean back. Before her butt hit the ground however, he had grabbed the collar of her robe and pulled her close enough to feel his breath on her lips. And Ilina, the girl who never acted on passion - Ilina who spent most of her wishing and hoping instead of doing; Ilina who didn't even have the guts to tell a boy she liked him after years and years - leaned forward and pressed her lips against one of the most dangerous assassins in Ferelden.

She had once read a few books, found hidden in one of the senior enchanter's offices, which spoke about a kiss being like lightning or thunder. She'd daydream about kisses that zapped her boots and called down the Maker's rumbling. Not once, in all of those books, did they explain kissing like this; this feeling that her whole body was afire. She wanted, no, she _needed_ to rip her robes from her body else they burn to dust. Her heart was pumping so fast it seemed each beat caught up the last until there was only one beat, throbbing and deafening. Her hands pressed against his chest and then dug into the leather pulling him closer. His hands slid into her hair and along her hip, pulling her closer still. She pressed her hips against his, wanting and needing something that she couldn't name. Somewhere, distantly, she heard whimpering and realized it was her. His mouth tasted so sweet and she pushed her tongue into it, wanting more; he met her thrust with his own. She barely noticed his hands grabbing her arms until he'd pulled her back away from him. Reality came thrashing and gnawing past her haze, quickly, and she became aware of the hush of the camp and her thick heavy breaths.

He was breathing as heavily as she, she noted, gazing at the ground, but she didn't have the courage to look around the camp and see the others' (or his) expressions. Her hair hung around her heated face and without a word, and without meeting anyone's gaze, she stood and smoothed out her robes and retreated to her tent.

The last sound she heard as she fell asleep was a deep rumbling in her belly. This time, she ignored it.


	3. Chapter 3

Ilina was cranky. She had been awakened frequently by dreams which had her stripping herself of nearly everything and sleeping bare; not even her blanket. The only thing that stopped her from actually going _bare_ was the thought of dancing around naked if darkspawn attacked the camp. _Well, at least the enemy would be caught off guard, _she thought.

Most of the dreams were just whispers of a thought - hints of dark, warm places that left her waking with slow forceful breaths and sweat-soaked clothes. And the funny curling of warmth, which circled in her belly and snaked its way into the lower regions of her body, grew tighter and hotter. No, she hadn't slept well -"napped" was a more accurate term.

So now here she was, exhausted, _again_, feeling very frustrated in all kinds of ways, and altogether too flustered. Which was why, when Zevran pulled cheese out of his pack and began slicing, with a smirk on his face nonetheless, she walked straight into Alistair's back as he abruptly stopped.

"Ow," she muttered, rubbing her forehead.

"You know, when you asked me to lead today," Alistair said, turning to her with a sigh, "I _assumed_ it meant you would follow. However, I hadn't realized it meant you were going to practically climb on my back while we walked. Now, I promise, _if_ we are attacked, you will have ample time to assume your regular position -- behind my back, screaming 'I'm not the one you want', while pointing at me."

She giggled at his girlish impression of her voice, which didn't alleviate her blush.

Clamping her lips together, she looked up at him guiltily through her lashes. "I, um…the cheese, you see…" Feeling her face burn, "...the smell I mean. Very scented. You know? Um…wouldn't want an ambush because of cheese." She cocked her head in Zevran's general direction, eyes large, imploring.

"Ah, yes, the last two Grey Wardens felled by the aroma of smelly cheese? What an ending." He pursed his lips and looked at her as if to say 'yeah…right'. "While the assassin's presence is annoying, I'm quite sure the banging and clashing of the swords, armor and pots in our packs are more likely to gain the attention of any ambushers, rather than a simple wedge of cheese. Not to mention..." His voice rose,"...that you've been humming, _loudly_, for the last six hours."

_Humming_? _My_ _face must be scarlet by now_, she thought, distressed.

"Why have we stopped, anyway?" she asked, hoping her brilliant subject change would go unnoticed.

"I thought it might be a good idea to stop for a bite, considering we've been listening to your belly for the last few hours -- which, surprisingly, is louder than your humming." He raised an eyebrow at her and handed her some dried bread.

As they continued on, she nibbled at the bread and alternated between thoughts of kicking Alistair where his armor wouldn't hurt her toes and kissing Zevran until her toes curled -- again.

_And speaking of Alistair_, she squinted her eyes, thoughtfully. She wasn't sure she liked this _new_ Alistair, transforming from thoughtful to indignant. She cursed Goldanna, the cause of Alistair's change. Then she cursed herself -- because she could have told Alistair that he had _other_ family and didn't need that shrew of a sister anyway - but instead she gave him that rotten advice about sodding taking care of himself, and then he was all "I'll lead today" and "king" _this_ and "king" _that_. He seemed made of sarcasm and logic, nowadays, and not at all amenable. She made a face at his back.

On a brighter note, at least she wasn't in charge anymore. Now, when they all died, she could blame him.

Mustering every bit of dignity she had, she put her nose in the air and proceeded forward, studiously ignoring Zevran and his cheese.

* * *

Somehow, as dusk fell and they searched for a camp site, Ilina realized she had fallen behind the rest of the party. It wasn't hard to imagine why; the bouquet of wild flowers in her hand was growing larger with every step. As were the ones stuck in her hair and cleavage.

_The way to Haven is paved with beautiful flora and fauna_. _So many new and interesting things_. _Of course, it's all new and interesting to her_, _isn't it_? she concluded. _The Circle tower wasn't much on new and exciting, unless you count walls, walls, books and -- oh, walls_.

And of course, picking flowers was one more black mark on the list of _doom_ that populated her Grey Warden transgressions, but she didn't care because flowers weren't grey and they weren't stone and they didn't stifle her in a makeshift prison. They were pretty and perfect and she knew _Leliana_ would appreciate them just as much as she. So when the arrow sunk into her flesh, and she fell face-first into the bed of flowers, she didn't scream "Help" -- she instead thought, "_Doesn't it figure the last un-Grey Warden-y thing I will have done will be to die with an arrow in the bum, face-down in a field of flowers."_ And she sighed as the world faded to black.


	4. Chapter 4

Zevran sat leaning casually against a log near the campfire with a knee up, slowly sharpening his dagger. He watched the camp activity through the crackling flames with feigned disinterest. To the others he appeared casual and indifferent to the frantic drama playing in front of him, and he preferred that persona. His lids were lowered to half mast as they surreptitiously followed Alistair and Leliana's wild pacing in front of the Warden's hastily constructed tent.

While Alistair and Leliana paced, the rest of the party seemed neutral, but perhaps they feigned as he did. In reality, his heart was pounding in his throat and his mouth was dryer than dust. He was furious with himself -- with her. His soul was already accountable for the death of one woman; and now, it seemed, he would bear responsibility for another.

_He should have stopped her! Silly, reckless child!_

They had walked the rocky, dust-ridden road which snaked between dense wood, and the current stretch of road lined with tall flowering weeds about waist-high. Ilina waded in the midst of them, unmindful of the world around her.

While the others hadn't noticed, he'd been _very_ aware she was trailing the party by significant margins. He'd stayed near her, invisible, keeping watch over their wide-eyed, little healer as she picked flowers and "ooh'ed" over the weeds.

He hated to admit that, while she was endearing, she would not survive long with that naiveté. He'd been about to admonish her careless behavior when she'd begun sticking the flowers around the swell of that deliciously small bosom. _Admonishment could wait_, he decided, and so he'd watched over her a little while longer.

When the arrow struck, she hadn't made a sound. She'd simply arched her back, flung out her arms as if falling into a lover's embrace and collapsed under the soft flutter of flowers.

Instantly his eyes flew around the meadow and to grove of trees nearby. While he wanted desperately to check if she was alive, the archer had to be dealt with first. He'd remained stealthed and hastened to seek out the enemy.

The Genlock stood fifty yards north of his position within the wooded area off the path. It was dispatched with a single slice of dagger-to-throat. Before the thing had fallen to the ground, he was racing - a silent and invisible predator - deeper into the wooded area, searching for more prey. Once he'd determined there was no more immediate danger, he'd run to her side. Cursing various, vile things in Antivan, he examined her for signs of life.

The arrow had struck low and to the right of her back, just above the hip. It was buried deep and would require Wynne for removal, he observed. At the sound of her heavy, wheezing breath, he ran to alert the others.

At Wynne's instruction, Sten and Alistiar had bundled and carried her while the rest ran ahead to set up her tent.

Now they all waited, anxiously, while one healer tended to the other.

He tried pushing her out of his head; to concentrate on sharpening the blade in his hands, on wiping the blood from his tunic - on anything but her. He, of all people, knew the dangers of allowing a woman to distract him; the dangers for him, yes - but also for her.

The first screams froze everyone in camp. Of the entire party, only Zev's and Morrigan's gazes remained impassive. However, every muscle in his body tensed at the sound. Her screams were guttural, primal; despite himself, he felt the imaginary twist of a blade in his gut.

When Wynne exited the tent, he tamped down the reflex to ask about her. With practiced ease, he continued to feign indifference while listening to the quiet conversation between Wynne, Alistair and Leliana.

"She'll be fine. The arrow was barbed, but I've healed and bandaged the wounds. She's sleeping and I used a little Lyrium to sedate her." Wynne's tone was reassuring and her listeners responded with twin exhales.

Alistair ran a hand through his hair and Leliana stood twisting her fingers, gazing into the campfire. "Wynne, you have to speak with her. I realize she's not a soldier, but she can't behave like an apprentice in the Tower, either." Alistair spoke with a low voice; authoritative, but not unkind, Zev noted.

"She barely spent a day out of apprenticeship, Alistair," Wynne argued, but pursed her lips and let out a slow breath and nodded. "But you are correct; she must be made more aware of her responsibilities and duties. I shall have a talk with her."

Zevran wanted to do more than talk to her. He wanted to shake her shoulders until she promised to heel at his feet. Rage and something indefinable welled up in his throat. He railed at his own inept handling of her frivolous, inexperienced behavior. He wanted to scream "_Grow up_!" before the world tore her to pieces.

But mostly, he wanted to sew her into that tent, forever, so the world wouldn't change and twist her into a cynical, cold mercenary – like him.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes I write with certain songs in my head. They seem to make chapters just flow out of my hand. This chapter I had Feist's 1234 in my head on repeats. It's just the perfect song, especially for the end. =)

* * *

Her eyes were glued shut with some sort of sleep-goo and Ilina was having a hard time opening them to see what had soaked her entire hand - which lay wet against her cheek. She had her first clue when she felt the ache of her cramped, open jaw. As she slowly, gingerly closed her mouth, she peeled her eyelids open with a smacking sound.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shadowed tent wall, but she let out a sigh (which turned into a gurgle) and closed her eyes again, silently thanking her eyelids for being so kind.

As she tried to bring her hand up to wipe the grit from her eyes, her body protested with shrieks and painful admonishments. She decided to still for a moment and take stock of her position.

She lay on her stomach, one hand twisted at an odd angle behind her back, palm face-up towards the ceiling. Suddenly panicked, realized she couldn't feel her other hand at all, so she moved a few fingers to feel the knuckles against her cheek. Carefully, with the utmost attention to the tiny pricks of pain accompanying her every move, she moved the hand behind her back and used it to roll herself over.

For a few moments, all she could do was squeeze her eyes tight and wait for the blood flow to return to her fingers. There appeared to be millions of miniscule, evil things using her body to dance upon, and each one seemed to be wearing shoes with little pins as heels. She wanted to cry out, except her mouth seemed to be made of cotton and was as dry as a cold winter morning -- all that escaped her lips was a dull croak.

"Oh, good; you're awake." Wynne's voice was clawing at the inside of her skull with tiny little dragon nails and Ilina responded with a dull moan.

Licking her lips, she attempted to open one eye and glare at Wynne, but just at that moment the feeling returned to her lower body and fire shot through her hip. Cotton-mouthed or no, she screeched and rolled onto her side.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" she chanted to the tent wall, both eyes opened.

"Yes, you will probably feel that one for a while. I suppose it was a good lesson for you."

Ilina responded with a whimper.

"You are a Grey Warden, Ilina, not some giddy child out for a day of fun. You're responsible for the entire world now, and if you fail, we will all die."

Ilina closed her eyes and tried to tune out the lecture. _I don't know what they expect_, she wailed inward,_ I'm_ _a __**healer...**__ not some warrior_. But she knew Wynne was right, despite her inner protest. She had acted foolishly and irresponsibly. "I'll try and do better, Wynne," she said, looking at Wynne over her shoulder. Some guilt dissipated with Wynne's approving nod.

"Good, now it's time to get up and exercise your muscles; you've been asleep for nearly eighteen hours."

Ilina's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. She could barely move her fingers and _Wynne wanted her to get up_? Laying there for a few moments, she reminded herself of the black list of un-Warden-y things she'd mentally accrued. She decided she would begin a new list of very Warden-like things, first and foremost would be to get up, despite the screaming objections every muscle in her body made.

****

Zevr's heart skipped a beat as she emerged from the tent, limping to Alistair's side. The imaginary knife in his gut twisted as she wrapped her arms around the Templar's waist and murmured something too quiet for even his trained ears. He watched as Alistair nodded and pulled her head to his chest. Zevran turned his head to the dying embers of the fire.

***

At first, due to Ilina's stilted movements, they moved slowly. As Wynne continually pumped Ilina with healing, the mage seemed to grow stronger until she was walking normally. (O_r, at least, normally for her_, Zev thought, smiling).

Normal, it seemed, was a sort of bounce to a tune only she could hear. Sometimes she punctuated the bounce with a skip, or a sweep of her hands. Eventually, her humming began to accompany the spring in her step. It was a sweet, lighthearted song. He imagined Ilina learned the song from the bard. And, as if to prove his conclusions correct, the bard sang softly, accompanying Ilina's hum.

And while they all marched to their probable doom, the mood turned from melancholy to hopeful.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: some of this dialog came directly from the game. While I may have changed the words around a bit, they are very close to the original. I do not own those words, I simply built my story around them. Bioware owns those particular words._

* * *

Zevran investigated the wilderness surrounding the path with both eyes and ears. The dense, snow-covered trees grew tall and stately against the grey sky and forced them into the shadow of the sinking sun. The air had chilled significantly as they drew closer to their destination: Haven. The ground grew hard and snow crunched under heavy, booted feet. The sound of their footsteps grated in his ears. With the sun gone, the forest lay in shadows, a ripe opportunity for ambushes. It was difficult to see (let alone hear) danger, and he found himself falling back in order to distance himself from the noise.

As he turned his head to scrutinize the other side of the path, his eyes found her form. She walked next to Leliana and directly behind Alistair, who was in the lead. Her voice, while low, carried the sound of laughter and, he noted, something about shoes. Rather than look away, he followed the line of her back, mentally touching his lips against the curves of her lower body. The slow sway of her hips drew his eyes like a cat stalking a mouse; they then moved to her legs, wondering how they would look, naked and wrapped around him.

He smiled and shook his head as she stepped on Alistair's heel for the third time. It seemed every time he looked at her she was bumping into him or stepping on him.

Alistair seemed to take it in stride. He sighed, pulling her up beside him with his arm around her shoulders. Zev's smile faded, and he now stared impassively at the scene. He wondered why his belly seemed determined to lash out at him whenever Alistair had his hands on her. He was grateful when she fell back away from Alistair and moved in step beside him.

"You, um..." She spoke so quietly he wasn't sure she meant for him to hear.

"Were you talking to me?" He cocked his head at her. She appeared to be talking to herself as she stared intensely at one hand, which seemed inclined to pluck out the nails of the other. He turned his head the opposite way, hiding a smile.

"Yes...um -" she exhaled loudly." I just thought…um…I was wondering why you wanted to leave the Crows, exactly."

He considered her question for a moment, but his past history with women taught him that the whole truth isn't necessarily to be trusted with a woman. "Well, now, I imagine that is a fair question. I suppose it was partly because I was never given the opportunity to choose another way. So here was an opportunity to do so; was it wrong to seize it?" He found himself enjoying her answering smile.

"You didn't choose to join the Crows?"

"I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased by them for three sovereigns - a good price, or so I'm told." Her look of horror made him turn away. It was the first time he'd felt the shame of pity.

"That sounds awful, Zev."

He longed to replace that piteous look with her smile. "Oh, I don't know about that. The more skillful Crows enjoy many benefits; respect, women, or whatever else you may fancy."

She stared down at her hands again and sighed. "So…um…what is it you fancy, exactly?" She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"I fancy many things. I fancy things that are both beautiful and strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting. Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?" Her answering blush was more than he could hope for.

"I…no," she murmured, and looked at him with guileless eyes. "Not at all."

****

_He fancies me_, she thought, grinning. What that meant, however, she didn't know. She did know that he would be uncomfortable if she hugged him right now, but that's exactly what she wanted to do. She was smart enough to know that her pity would make him resent, rather than appreciate the gesture. Knowing that did not diminish her desire to do so.

The Tower was sad and lonely, but she had Jowan at least. And to be sold into…into…well, she wasn't exactly sure; after all, he was just seven. What she _did_ know was that his story wasn't so far from hers, even if he was her exact opposite.

"As for what I'll do in the future…presuming there is one." She noticed he had stopped looking at her."…I truly can't imagine. Maybe go into business for myself, far from Antiva. For now, naturally, I go where you go."

While she knew he spoke of the pledge, she couldn't help hoping these last few weeks with them had somehow made him enjoy their company. "Well, I'm happy to have you along." She smiled shyly at him.

"And here I am, happy to be had. Isn't it wonderful how things work out that way?" She couldn't tell if he was teasing or not. It didn't matter or not, he was hers - for now, anyway.

"Tell me about Antiva?" she asked tentatively and nearly melted at the smile he shot her.

"Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you?" She nodded, looking at him, and then returned her attention to the road. "It's warm, not cold like this Ferelden." He made a quick gestured to the snow that surrounded them. "There is an Antivan saying that it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom." He was smiling wistfully, but although he spoke casually, his eyes scanned the darkness of the woods – watchful; predatory. She found herself studying the curve of his cheek and following the tattoo which twisted along the side of it; the ropy muscles in his shoulders flexed and bowed as he clenched and unclenched his hands, the strong blue veins winding along his arms stood out against his tan skin. Her breath quickened and she looked up into his eyes. When he caught her looking he grinned like a wolf. She flushed and turned her face to the road again.

She liked his voice when he spoke about Antiva. She liked his voice when he spoke about anything, actually. That soft, seductive tone that curled around her ears like a warm summer wind. He made Antiva sound so beautiful that she began to imagine herself swimming in a sea of flowers across a lush green meadow.

Unfortunately, she has closed her eyes to visualize this vista, causing her to veer sideways. She bumped into Zevran, who grabbed hold of her shoulders as she nearly toppled over. Ilina was just inches away from his face feeling, that warm breath again, so close – too close. His eyes looked hungry, and caused her to scramble backwards or be devoured. Somehow her foot managed to entangle itself in his and, while he fought valiantly to stay upright, when she grabbed the front of his scabbard he lost his balance. As she fell to the ground, she was distinctly aware of her foot flying up and hitting Zevran right in the…

She's quite sure the words he's muttering while glaring at her are not about her beauty.


	7. Chapter 7

The attack happened just as the group decided to make camp on the outskirts of Haven. The twenty or so darkspawn which horseshoed around them were a mix of archers, rogues, warriors, and one very mean-looking emissary. As the first arrow soared through the air and struck Alistair's shield, Ilina flew behind the nearby bushes.

Despite her predilection for running and hiding at the first sign of trouble, Ilina knew one thing: no one would die on her watch. Once anyone had fought alongside her (or more accurately, in front of her) there was no doubt why Duncan had recruited her.

The smell of battle exploded in powerful bursts in her nostrils and Ilina breathed deeply; darkspawn blood easily distinguished from her own people. In the midst of combat, while agony flowed freely on both sides, her gift erupted from her hands in blinding cerulean streaks of light; each torn, cut, ravaged arm, leg or rib was instantly cauterized. Every finger of light comes at the price of pain; it reaches deep into the wound, stitching each fiber of skin together. One after another, she grasped the energy from the air, her hand raised to the heavens, fingers clenched around the pure power and flung it at her allies.

Even as the glory of battle reigned around her, Ilina's legs trembled. Her heart sat in her throat, pounding until she was sure it would come up with Alistair's terrible stew. She prayed the battle to end soon before lunch became a grey stain on the grass.

The rogue popped out of nowhere and Ilina thanked the Maker as she resisted being stunned. She squealed, dodging the sharp stab of the dagger, and this time her nervous stomach emptied. The heave drove her to bend in half, causing the staff strapped to her back to crack against the Genlock's skull. The second heave followed quickly after, as did the second 'crack'. The rogue didn't crumble so much as fall sideways like a tree. Even as the heaves took her, she continued to cast.

As the battle ended, out of the corner of her eye she saw Zev's dagger finish off the Genlock which had attacked her. She stood, wiping her mouth and turning away from the scene. The flush that suffused her skin threatened to burn through her clothes. Normally she felt no shame at her cowardice -- however, she found herself wishing he hadn't witnessed it.

* * *

Following Alistair's lead, the darkspawn Emissary was the first to be dispatched. As they moved from one foe to another, Zevran was forced to acknowledge not only the skill of the group as whole, but the reason for the relatively minor injuries they suffered. Ilina was magnificent (even while amusing). He almost felt sorry for the rogue victimized unintentionally by her staff.

He examined the creature at her feet and found it breathing. He watched her flinch and turn as he put an end to its inconvenient respiration.

Examining the slash on his arm (suffered from an ill-timed dodge) and finding the barest scar marring his skin, he found himself further impressed by her skills. The wound had hardly bled before the flesh cauterized (painfully) and, although tiny prickles of pain continued to press into the injury, this also began to fade into blessed numbness.

As he turned to praise her extraordinary skills, his words died on a sigh of resigned exasperation as he watched her slip on her own sick, hit her head against her staff, and pass out at his feet.


	8. Chapter 8

Ilina thought she could smell the wine Brother Rekk made during the spring celebrations. She opened her eyes expecting to see the dull gray walls of the Tower, and instead looked up at Zevran's chin. She thought about telling him she could walk, and then caught the whiff of leather mixed with spiced wine. She clamped her mouth shut. She half closed her eyes in contentment, enjoying the feel of being held. However, he must have sensed her awaken because he chose that moment to look down at her. She feigned sleep - content to lie in his arms.

"I have a secret, my dear Warden." His voice was quiet, serious. Her heart skipped a beat but she merely peeked at him through her lashes. He was staring straight ahead and she concluded he must have been addressing Alistair. A faint smile curved her lips at the feel of his arms around her shoulders and tucked under her knees.

"Were you aware that in Antiva, the Crows train their assassins to learn subtle differences in a target's breathing and body movement during sleep, as well as while they are awake?"

_Drat! _"I was, um, just about to tell you that you can put me down," she said softly, failing to hide a guilty look.

"Did you not wish to know the secret?" he asked, looking down at her with a brow raised.

Her forehead creased in confusion. "Oh, but wasn't that..."

"The _secret_ is that I was enjoying the sound of your heart speeding up when you look at me. And I find myself wondering if it beats from fear or desire?" Her face was burning so hot she expected it to sear through the space between her face and his chest, burning a hole in his leather tunic.

Biting her lip and feeling especially brave, she laid a hand against his chest, excited by the jump his heart made. Emboldened by the sound, she laid her cheek against his chest, closed her eyes and sighed softly.

"Alas, my lovely Grey Warden, it is better if you walk now."

She nodded against his chest even as he set her feet on the ground. She opened her mouth to say thank you just as he reached out and brushed a stray braid from her eye. He softly rubbed the braid between his thumb and finger, studying it intently. His eyes frowned in an unspoken question.

She licked her lips in disquiet, certain her heart would stop any second from exhaustion. Her body was fastened in place – afraid to move lest the spell be broken.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there staring at one another, without words or movement, but it felt like an instant and an eternity all at once. She was flooded with his presence, surrounded by him, though he stood at a foot away. Sight and sound faded until all she could hear was her own raspy short breaths.

_Dangerous. Beautiful. Want. Need. _Her mind had reduced her thoughts to single words spinning round and round.

A soft woof and the feel of Hilde's fur under her hand finally brought her back to reality. She waited but a single moment, and then reluctantly turned and ran to catch up to Leliana.

* * *

As he watched her catch up with Leliana, Zevran resolved to have those thighs wrapped around him by morning.


	9. Chapter 9

It's the wine, she decides. His spiced-wine scent. That was what gave her the idea. The wine will give her courage. And Maker knew Ilina needed courage. And Wynne has wine - so maybe if she just took a sip?

* * *

But she doesn't ask Wynne for it because she's never had any kind of ale or wine - and anyway, hadn't she already done enough heaving in front of him? So she tries to figure out a way to ask…

* * *

She'd thought of a hundred ways to ask him – a thousand ways, probably. _Would you kiss me again? Why haven't you kissed me again? Can I kiss you? Do Antivan's all kiss like you (hint hint)? Can you teach me how to kiss? _But she couldn't ask. The words crawled back into her throat, choking her. What came out a few minutes ago, as she'd stood in front of him and _attempted_ to ask, was something like the sound a dying frog might make. And then he'd asked her if she was alright, and all she could do was stand there and blush. _Oh, Andraste's eyes_…she'd thought, frustrated, and then stomped her foot on the ground – which caused him to raise his eyebrow. Who stands in front of someone without saying a word and stomps their foot?

He'd smiled questioningly. "Something vexing you, my dear Warden?"

She'd opened her mouth to speak - and burped. Not a dainty lady-like burp which might be endearing – no - but a soul wrenching, soldier-like, _manly_ burp. And wasn't that just ironic? The only Gray Warden-y thing he'd ever witnessed her do was burp like a drunken soldier while trying to get a kiss.

He had closed his eyes and hid a smile, pressing his lips together.

Mortified, she had practically flown back to her tent.

The scene replayed in her head over and over until sleep was impossible. Now she just lay on her blanket, outside her tent, looking up at the stars and softly stroking Hilde's ears.

Hilde, always the first to comfort her, lay next to her side. The warmth of the dog began to lull her into calm.

"Hilde?"

_Soft chuff._

"How does one become brave?" She turned her head to look at Morrigan.

_Whine._

"She's very brave."

_Soft woof._

"Yes, and mean, too." She giggled.

_Evil._

"I…I don't know, Hilde. Sometimes I think she might be. I think her mother was very cruel, Hilde. I don't think it's as simple as evil." She sighed. "But she is very brave."

_Evil. Wynne is brave – not evil._

"Yes, but Wynne would not approve of kissing Zevran." She laughed softly.

"Well then, we shall have to keep it a secret." She sat straight up at the sound of his voice.

It was getting frustrating now – the blushing. She wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her natural skin color at this point. She crossed her legs as he squatted next to her feet and she looked at him, shyly.

Hilde rose, snuggled Zev beneath the chin and trotted over to Alistair. Ilina stared at the dog and Zev in turn, eyes wide – amazed.

Zevran flashed her a feral grin.

She poked her tongue out and licked the corner of her lip.

His smile disappeared.

Her eyes grew wider.

He leaned forward. She leaned back.

Her head reached the ground and he hovered over her. The muscles of his arm bulged as he balanced on one elbow over her while his other hand pushed her knees - urging her legs to straighten. She complied, slowly extending her legs, staring into his eyes. He settled next to her, on his side, and used his free hand to grab her chin.

Her fingers dug into the blanket they rest upon. She was distinctly aware of the warmth of his thighs next to her fingers. He turned her face away from him, exposing her neck. Her pulse raced and she was sure he could see it pound in her veins. Her breath became soft pleas as she felt his breath trailing along the curve of her neck. And then he finally pressed his lips against the skin and a sharp pang of need shot through her core. Her fingers gripped the blanket harder and her toes curled in her boots.

"Ahem."

Her eyes flow open to see Leliana standing over them.

Zevran merely smiled, unmoved. "Ah, did you wish to join us?"

Ilina went from frustrated to confused. _Join_ _them? Join them doing what? She couldn't join_…Her eyes widened as she looked at Zev and then Leliana, feeling a blush creep up her face. _Drat!_ She closed her eyes, willed her skin to return to a normal shade (and temperature), then quickly reopened them.

"Um, no." And Ilina admired the way Leliana could respond without blushing. "I simply wished to remind that there others in the camp, and you're not exactly hidden."

Zevran muttered something in Antivan but all she could make out was a hissed out "Fereldens."

As Leliana returned to the other side of the camp, Zev sat and pulled his knee up, leaning back on his hands.

Ilina closed her eyes against the world spinning around her. Thinking about her next question, her caged heart beat against her chest, demanding release. "Zevran…" she began, quietly –almost a whisper. "Would you…" _Deep breaths, Ilina, deep breaths. _"care to join me in my tent?" she rushed out one breath, still grasping the blanket and staring at the stars.

"Oh?" He turned to her, smiling, running a finger lightly up her arm. "Is there something in your tent that needs assassinating?"

Her breath caught; goosebumps popped up everywhere his fingers moved. "I just want to…talk to you." She stopped at his raised eyebrow and lurid smile. "In private," she finished.

"Now I'm intrigued. Whatever would we need privacy to discuss. Tactics, perhaps?" His finger moved to her stomach, causing her to suck in a shaky breath.

_Be brave, Ilina. You're a Grey Warden. _"I, uh, don't just want to talk, Zevran." She breathed the admission.

"Ah, then, my beautiful mage...I have a much better place for privacy." He held out his hand to her.

_Be! Brave!_ And she took his offered hand.


	10. Chapter 10

_author's note: I'm dedicating this chapter to theLiterator, Crisium and Lanucifa for their incredible patience with my constant cut and pastes! You guys totally inspire me to do it right!_

* * *

Dragged. Ilina is dragged. It's not that she is reluctant or dragging her feet, it's just that he seems impatient somehow; which doesn't make sense to her, because it's _she_ that feels the urgency and panic.

* * *

And then he's stopped and laying the blankets down, and she wants to turn and run, but the _need _sparks in her blood and claws at her belly - so she just stands there somewhere between flight and surrender.

When he shrugs out of his tunic, her eyes fixate on his chest and she knows, soul deep, flight is no longer an option.

* * *

The river undulates along the edge of the small forest clearing. The soft water thrusts itself against the rocks jutting out of its surface. Ilina sympathizes with the rocks, feeling her blood battering the confines of her skin.

The moon is barely a sliver in the black sky, but it reflects in the water and onto the soft moss on the ground near her feet. As her eyes adjust to the night, he slowly manifests from the shadows.

She watches, nervously ripping at her nails, as he builds a fire. She's only dimly aware of the cold, enraptured by the play of the light along his lean body. He ripples, and every movement is cat-like - lithe - causing a swarm of butterflies to burst into flight inside her belly.

And he's standing there in thin leather breeches - looking fierce and sexy - and she suddenly wishes she'd borrowed Morrigan's robes instead of her own proper mage robes. She feels _stifled_ and _prim_, which isn't at all what she wants to be in his eyes.

Then he takes a step towards her, and the robe is forgotten.

He's so close, she feels the heat from his body; so close that she's overwhelmed by his scent again - his imposing presence. She longs to meet his eyes, but hers are riveted to his torso and the light-blond-brown hair trailing into his low hung trousers - the flat golden skin of his tautly stretched stomach.

Her breaths quicken in time with her pulse; a steady _drub drub drub_ which drowns out the onslaught of the raging river. She studies him, fascinated by the angular ridges disappearing into the top of his breeches and impulsively she reaches out, biting her lip, holding her breath, and trails her fingertip along one of the ridges.

His breath comes out in a hiss and she jerks her hand away, eyes flying up to meet his in question.

His eyes are blacker than the sky above and she's hears his breathing, thick and fast. _Because of me?_ She's entranced by the thought.

She recognizes the hunter in his eyes and almost backs away from the naked ferocity in his countenance. Her eyes drop to his chest again. Her tongue moves to wet her lips reflexively, and she's both terrified and excited by the growl that escapes his lips.

Suddenly, she's crushed against his chest with his fingers biting into her arms - his mouth insistent against hers, his tongue demanding entry.

Her mouth opens and the power of his tongue against hers ignites her blood. Dimly, she wonders how she'll survive the pure lava flowing through her body.

Floating. Ilina is floating. The world is spinning into a thousand bursts of light around her until there is nothing left but the dark depths of his mouth, the feel of his hard chest and the seductive scent of his golden skin. When he pulls back away from her, she cries out, but then his hands are on her robe.

She gasps as he tears it open at the neck - her arms become imprisoned at her side by the fabric he pulls over her shoulders, exposing her breasts to the night air. The cold air immediately stiffens the peaks. His head bends down and a moan escapes her lips as his mouth closes over the hardened flesh. His teeth claim it, shooting ribbons of pain and pleasure through her body; she's shocked into wordless bliss. And then his tongue flicked over the crest and the scream exploded from her lungs.

And suddenly he's slower, calmer, his tongue swirling around the tip of her breast, his hand cupping the swell, sending shivers down her spine and reducing her breathing to short, heated pants.

"Zev…?" She thought she spoke aloud, but he continues the assault on her body without acknowledging her cry. And her thoughts are pushed from her head by the impatient tendrils of desire.

Her body quivers until her legs can no longer hold her up. She feels herself begin to sink and then his hand presses against the curve of her back and his other fastens in her hair, pulling her mouth to his in another mind-searing kiss.

The hand behind her head moves between them and loosens the belt, freeing her arms slightly. He steps back from her and savagely grabs her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. He yanks on the belt, jerking her slightly. "Take it off!" he demands quietly.

Suddenly, overcome with shyness under his forceful gaze, she shrugs the robe up to cover herself. Lightning-quick, his dagger flashes from nowhere, slicing through the belt even as he holds her gaze to his. She closes her eyes, hoping the darkness is enough to conceal the flush spreading over body.

"Tsk. Tsk," he whispers quietly, and she's not sure her heart can keep up the insane pace. "Open your eyes." And somehow she manages to do so. "Do you wish to stop, my lovely Ilina?"

She wants to scream "no" but her voice is clogged with longing. Her head shakes, imperceptibly, against the hand clutching her chin. She drops her arms to her side, allowing the robe to fall open. It's enough of a response.

He drops to his knees with an intake of breath and opens her robe, grabbing her hips roughly.

"Bellissima, amore." The heat of his breath whispering against her belly is almost too much to bear; when his lips press against the skin, only his hands kept her upright. His teeth nip the flesh along her hip and his thumbs gently pull down the last bit clothing.

Her face is burning, and the butterflies in her stomach begin to beat their wings indiscriminately. She squeezes her eyes shut, besieged by a barrage of conflicting emotions; desire fought embarrassment and excitement.

"Open your eyes and look at me, amore." He presses his fingers into her hips - a sharp, painful warning - and her eyes grudgingly open.

His face hovers at her hips and she sees her belly clench in response to his touch. Her blood sings with desire, smothering shyness and uncertainty. She watches with baited breath as his mouth presses against the softness at the apex of her thighs. And then she is melting into the expert movements of his tongue. It plunges into her, sending arrows of _need_ shooting through her body. She tries to suppress the screams but then his lips are sucking and his teeth are grazing _something_ which sends shockwaves through her body; and each scream which escapes her throat seems to spur his tongue's aggressive thrusts.

Her voice is a chorus of hoarse, desperate screams as she presses her hands to his shoulders, digging her fingers into them. And now there is a new fire in her belly, a bright, white-hot light that grows brighter from the wicked dance of his tongue. Then the light bursts open, scorching her from the inside, pouring out its heat in a tide of pleasure. Her eyes close of their own volition as her body trembles against his mouth.

Water. Ilina is water; flowing sinuously down a river of contentment. He picks her up in his arms and lays her gently on the blanket, pulling her robe around her. His lips are close to her ears, whispering beautiful Antivan words she doesn't understand. His chest is pressed against her back, his arm is around her waist – and she is safe, warm. As sleep claims her exhausted body, she feels his lips press delicately on her neck. She sighs, happily.

Love. Ilina is in love.


	11. Chapter 11

The dawn comes with the price of frustration for Zevran. The cold of the morning is biting, but their heat mingles under the blankets. He's smiling as he rolls over on his side, coming face-to-face with Ilina. His smile grows wider as he begins thinking of ways to relieve his frustration.

As they lie nose-to-nose, Zev marvels at the soft noises she makes when she sleeps. Her eyelashes, fanned against her soft cheek, are angelic. However, though he'd like to say she is the most beautiful woman alive...at this moment, it's not possible.

Ilina's mouth is hanging open with a small puddle of drool building up under her cheek, dripping down her chin. Every once in a while, the soft noises she makes turn into a sort of … '_snort-growl'_…is the only way to describe it.

He's been itching to kiss her for the last few minutes, despite the horror he's witnessed. Unfortunately, some of the snort-growls end on an exhale, and, instead of kissing her, he ends up searching for whatever died in her mouth.

He closes his eyes, and pictures the wanton beauty that shook and convulsed against him last night. It's this image he holds as his finger trails a slow path down her stomach. Her eyes flutter open.

He never does manage a satisfactory explanation to Wynne (or anyone else) about what happens next.

He smiles at her.

Her eyes grow to three times their size.

He opens his mouth to speak.

She jumps up, trying – and failing – to wrap her robe around herself.

She rips the blanket off him, and manages to semi-cover the upper portion of her body.

The blanket gets tangled up in the back of her robe, which pulls blanket and robe up in a sort of lump.

The belt falls to the ground.

_And_ _it's here, _he supposes_, the fault will be put on him_.

Ilina bends over to pick up the belt, the robe and blanket rise to expose a deliciously round backside.

_"And really, Wynne, what sane man can resist? It was such a small kiss," _he would explain later with a shrug.

Ilina whips around, trips, and lands that beautiful backside right into the campfire, setting the blankets ablaze.

He jumps up to grab her just as she screeches.

The rest is a blur of motion.

She begins doing a hop-jump kind of dance, dropping the flaming blanket and shimmying out of the smoldering robes.

Then as he watches, horrified, she runs - arms flailing - stark naked - into the river.

He's screaming for the others as he jumps in, moving to her as quickly as possible.

As he drags them both ashore, Ilina is quickly shuffled away under the coos of both Wynne and Leliana.

He's left standing there half-naked, shivering under the disapproving glares of Alistair, Hildegarde and Sten.


	12. Chapter 12

Leliana lays with her head in Ilina's lap at the edge of the campfire. Ilina is absently tracing symbols onto the bard's forehead. Alistair draws images in the dirt next to them as he discusses tactics with Sten. Leliana leans over every once in a while adding her input.

Ilina stares at the fire and contemplates other types of tactics which have nothing to do with darkspawn, bandits or crazy dragon worshiping cultists.

She lifts her eyes to study Zevran. He's barely spoken or looked at her today, following her mad, naked dash into the river; he simply followed orders with a nod of his head or brief words of acquiescence.

In her mind she's tried to explain to him several times her reaction this morning; each time it comes out more pathetic. She feels pathetic though, which is at least honest. She's tired and finding it harder and harder to avoid each day's events.

Every battle seems to leave a tiny open wound inside her. The _people_ are the worst and today it was people. The others seem unaffected, or just angry. Sometimes they come across bandits and mercenaries, but it's rare. The darkspawn are hard to pity, but bandits are _people_. The worst was today and Ilina tries to push it out of her head as she does every other night.

Alistair, Sten and Leliana are discussing building a tree house, or Alistair getting married to a princess or Leliana's beautiful singing.

Only they aren't.

They're going over how to cut through the cultists tomorrow and Ilina wants to wade into the river again to rinse her soul against the talk of death. She covers her ears like a child and stares at Zevran. He makes her forget, makes her believe. She doesn't have to pretend with _him_.

She gets up to talk to him. It's only Leliana's loud "ARGH" that stops her in her tracks. She winces, realizing Leliana tried to lie back in her lap. She turns to the bard's accusing glare and shrugs. "Sorry," she whispers, shrugging. "I thought you were going to stay sitting with them."

Leliana's eyes are the soul of patience and understanding as she shoos Ilina away with an understanding smile.

* * *

Covertly he watches her uncertain movements towards him. Zev idly wonders if she has succeeded in ripping every nail from her hands in the last few days as his gaze slides to her twisting fingers.

He's been reluctant to approach her, treating her like a skittish deer. However, he's wanted a reason for her reaction this morning. He's grateful she appears to want to give him one - or at least has resolved her fear.

She stops a few feet from the log he's reclining against and he feels the frustration of helplessness. _What is she afraid of_? He's had ample opportunity to complete his mission if that was her worry.

"I …" Her voice is quieter than he's ever heard it. Even his well trained ears are straining to listen. "That is…would you…" She motions towards her tent and he closes his eyes.

His body responds to the invitation even as his heart clenches with some unidentified pain.

He stands, forcing nonchalance into his posture. His voice is amazingly lighthearted, surprising even himself with its humor. "Again? What must the others think." He feels the bitter edge of a blade twisting inside again, and somehow manages to smile against it.

He can't hide in the kiss, however. As his hands cup her cheeks and his lips close over hers, he's undone. Her tongue touches his and fingers of desire slither along his throat. They twist and turn down through his body and into his belly, clenching. His fingers clutch into her hair, hard, demanding. He wants to demand more, an explanation, a declaration…_something._ He punishes her mouth instead.

She pulls away from him, and disappears inside her tent. He stands there a moment, gathering control, before following her.

She is sitting on the bedroll with her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs as if holding on for dear life. She is terrified, he realizes, yet so obviously willing.

His anger is a palpable thing, clenching and releasing his fists. He wishes to reduce her to nothing but flesh, just as she had made him. Even such innocence and sweetness wants only the hardness of his shaft. He feels his control slipping away as she looks up at him, naked desire in her gaze.

He is deliberate now, undressing to his leather trousers. It's a conscious decision, knowing what excites her is the absence of visuals, the hint of his sex. He's rewarded with her intake of breath when he lies on his side next to her.

He is determined to give nothing else to her this night. Tonight she shall pleasure him.

She turns and her head hovers over his chest. The soft, feather-light touch of her hair against his skin quickens his pulse. As her lips press softly against the skin of his lower abdomen, he grabs her hair on a rough hiss of breath.

He revels in her cry of pain as he pulls her onto her back and presses his knee between her legs. As she opens them on another whimper, her hands twist into his hair, pulling his mouth to hers.

He wants nothing of this tenderness, however, and pulls her hands above her head, grinding her tiny wrists into the ground as he leverages between her legs. He looks into her eyes for the reproach he expects and is again unraveled by the raw need in her eyes.

He means to punish her, drive the pain into her body, leave her the crumpled mess of used flesh that he is, but she is panting with want, raising her hips.

"Yes," she whispers fervently. "Please."

His response is animalistic. He is pushing up her robe and barely frees himself from the confines of his pants before burying himself in her with one thrust.

Expecting the scream of pain he soaks it into his mouth with a sweep of his tongue. Each thrust of tongue and hips are met by a scream, driving him closer to madness. Through his bestial lust he's vaguely aware she's wrapped her legs around his hips and her screams have changed to quick, shallow gasps of pleasure.

He notices her hands are bloodless, blanched, and he releases her wrists. She flexes her hands against his back, driving her nails in. Sweat builds and trickles against her fingers as his ruthless grunts join her soft moans.

He pushes into her again and again, burying himself as deep as possible. His body tenses as he impales her with merciless thrusts. The tension builds too quickly for his liking, but it's an unstoppable force. His hips react to the pressure building within, increasing their rhythm.

Her wetness squeezes around him in pulses and he feels her climax before her ear-piercing scream bursts through the haze of his desire. As the frenzy of thrusts reaches their peak, he erupts into a burning-hot release, exploding inside her.

He lies there, breathing heavily, shamed. He's given her everything now, even his control.

* * *

Ilina is breathless and floating again. When he tries to move off her, she grasps him tighter with her legs and arms. "Just…just a little while longer," she pleads.

"Please," she begs again and feels him shake with the effort to hold his weight off her.

"Anything, amore," he whispers - pressing his lips against her ears. She shivers with pleasure and holds him tighter.

"That was…" And how could she come up with the words to explain this feeling of completion - peace? "That wasn't _nice_ at all!"

His head whips up and he looks so indignant she has to giggle. She covers his mouth with her hand. "It wasn't nice, Zevran. It was…" She cocks her head trying to come up with an adjective. "Dirty," she finally releases on a breath and then begins to giggle again.

"See? I knew this would happen eventually. I should have warned you right from the moment you refused to kill me. It was inevitable."

She grinned. "You're practically a public menace."

He moved off her in one sinuous movement, pulling her head against his chest. His heart accelerated as she lay there, beating in frantic, hard pulses.

"It's true. They used to issue warnings about me at the Antivan border. Ah, the good old days." His soft chuckle ended on a sucked-in breath as she trailed her finger around his nipple.

He grasps her hand and she weaves her fingers into his reluctant digits.

Her heart is in her throat and she swallows hard "So…what now?" Is she mad to think he could…feel something for her?

"What now? Well, that is up to you now, isn't it, my beautiful Grey Warden." She frowns, turning to look at his eyes. "I shall ask nothing more than the pleasures you're willing to give."

"So... easy come, easy go?" she asks quietly, feeling her heart stop, beat once, then stop. "And..." She takes a deep breath and swallows hard."…what about love?"

She wants to cry out as he casts her hand away from him and sits up, getting dressed.

"I was born of a whore and trained as an assassin. Pleasure and death are the guiding forces of my life." He grabs her chin and drags her eyes to his. "What room is there in these things for love?" His lip curls in disgust as he pushes up.

He stops at the tent flap and runs his hand through his hair. She watches it softly graze the tense, rippling muscle at his neck.

"At any rate, we should be on our way. A new day awaits us, or so the rumor goes." His smile is so casual, her heart breaks a little.

* * *

_A short shout out to my beta, rednightmare, for being so quick and thorough 3. You're the best!_

_And all you reviewers: your words are wonderful, poetic - they drive me to read each chapter 20 times to get it just right for you!_


	13. Chapter 13

The tunnels in the mountain were arduous and claustrophobia-inducing. They climbed inexorably towards a distant, unfathomable summit. The filthy walls were caked with blood, feces and urine; smells which seeped into the air and battered the beleaguered group's nostrils.

As they followed the eternal, decaying passageway, they left the twisted, broken bodies of both animal and human in their wake without lament. Regret was exhausting and at this point, even Ilina had little patience for it.

There are a hundred moments Ilina regrets in her life.

The morning she flew into the ice-cold, winter lake (stark naked) was definitely in the top ten of Ilina's Awkward Moments. And that said a lot, considering she had set fire to the Circle's library – twice. Those used to be the worst of her transgressions, now they weren't even in the top ten.

The lake, of course, was number _ten_ (and oddly number one too). It had been the Archdemon which caused that particular moment of humiliation.

The dream had been so real. _The great beast's breath pushed out in a storm of hot sulfurous screeches which had reverberated in her skull. The glistening black wings billowed under the flickering fires of the cavern walls, washing over her hidden form in the crevice of the cliff's face. As she looked down from her perch, thousands of feet above the river of darkspawn soldiers, the thing had found her. Its great claws reached out towards her retreating form. Her eyes squeezed shut in terror, back pressed into the wall, as one giant, wicked black talon flexed toward her. Then it softly trailed down her stomach._

_Wait…what?_

Her eyes had timidly opened and Zevran smiled at her. She practically flew up and in a rare moment of bravery (and wouldn't Zev be impressed now!), prepared to meet the archdemon head-on, and… well, she never really _got_ to the 'and_' _part.

The cold had blasted against her skin in a wave of icy reality.

She'd ripped the blanket off in a blind panic to cover her freezing limbs.

Her robe had flown open, the cold assaulting her breasts. As she tried to close it, she dropped her belt.

With an inner screech she bent to pick it up… and then he'd _kissed_ her… _there! Maker!_

As she'd whipped around her foot caught on something - of course.

And she'd fallen – of course.

In the fire – of course.

As the unpleasant heat blistered her bottom, she could only think of one thing: the river.

And she couldn't swim …something she realized after she'd jumped in – of course.

_And really, that moment of my life should have a much higher place on my list! _She thought, recalling Zevran's face.

Alistair's stews were numbers nine, eight _and_ seven on The List. Mornings in the forest after _eating_ Alistair's cooking were numbers _six_, _five_ and _four_. Previously the list was solely populated with his stews – and their repercussions.

Accidently seeing Sten in one of _those_ forest moments, was most definitely number three. She shuddered at the memory.

Goldanna was unquestionably number two. Ilina wasn't sure what possessed her to give Alistair that horrid advice – "_you have to look out for yourself, Ali". _

Only she _did_ know why – _Jowan_. So soon after the ordeal with Connor, that particular injury had been a fresh, open, weeping wound.

No! She refused to think about Jowan. She thrust the bitter memories from her thoughts.

Number one – the lake, again. _What was he going to do with that trailing finger_?

She sighed, dolefully.

With Alistair in the lead, they emerged from the dim, cavernous tunnels of the mountain. A sharp, bitter wind stabbed its way past their armor. It pulled their hair away before sweeping back and mercilessly flogging it against their skin. They walked cautiously down a crumbling walkway which nestled in the cleavage of the mountains.

The decaying arches sporadically curved over their heads and drew Ilina's attention. It wasn't hard to imagine this place being a walkway to the gods; the shining grey and white stone thrusting and arching through the snow covered basin.

Alistair was looking up too, when he stopped suddenly. His gaze flew past the arches into the distant cloud-covered sky.

"Ali why have you st—"Her voice died abruptly.

Emerging from the silver tendrils of the clouds came a creature of both nightmare and fantasy. It glided, then beat its black-scaled wings towards them.

The entire group was still as stone statues while the beast flew over their heads. Its wingspan stretched like a storm cloud across their motionless forms, encasing them in shadow for a moment. The chill down their backs, accompanying the shadow, wasn't due to the lack of sun.

"Is that...is..?" She couldn't finish the sentence – didn't want to know.

"The archdemon?" Alistair's brows furrowed, still watching the dragon as it settled atop the mountain, curling into itself. "No, we would have felt it." He pulled her shivering body into the crook of his arm.

The mountain loomed over a door directly opposite their position. What other horrors could be past that door? _Worse than this magnificent, terrifying beast that slept at the summit of a snow covered peak?_

"Is it evil?" She looked up at him.

"It's dangerous."

She nodded. The past few hours, seeing the madness in the eyes of all those people, had her questioning her faith in the Maker…and just about everything else. After all, at least those people had blind faith in something with physical form. _Was it right to kill someone's god? But then again, how many would it kill if they let it live?_

"Then we kill it," she sighed.

Alistair merely nodded and squeezed her shoulder.

"Zev, wait for my call for your first strike." At Zev's nod, Alistair charged.


	14. Chapter 14

Leliana lived and breathed battle. Her bow seemed another appendage which marked everything for death and then followed through with the promise. She ignored the wind whipping her hair into her eyes and let loose arrow after arrow. Her aim was remarkable and Ilina often admired her skills during moments of respite. Today, however, the gash on Leliana's arm seeped down to her fingers and as her bow began to slip she cried out for healing.

Zevran dodged the tail swipes, daggers dancing in riposte at the dragon's back. Blood dripped from the tips of his knives and pulsed from the dragon's hind legs. Ilina could only be grateful he was unharmed. She had only one focus.

Breathless, Ilina pushed more healing into Alistair's battered body. The templar was gritting his teeth in what she knew was pain from unhealed damage as well as the many wounds which twisted together under his skin. Tears stung her eyes as she flung spell after spell into his body.

Leliana's battering quietly called out to her, but Alistair was depleting her mana. For now Leliana was left to deal with her own injuries.

A collective breath held as the beast turned to Zevran, shrieking. Alistair's sword pushed through its cheek. The creature's angry howls intensified as Alistair thumped the wound with his shield, but everyone's breath expelled in a short sigh of relief as it turned back to the templar.

The relief quickly turned to terror as the animal grasped Alistair between its immense jaws and bit down hard. The dragonbone armor took the brunt of the assault, but even as the beast shook Alistair, something crunched under the force of the beast's jagged teeth.

Ilina's scream was savage as her senses were swamped with the knight's broken bones. She dropped to her knees, panting.

Abandoning her staff, she pulled energy from the sky with both hands. The exertion caused sweat to drip down her body, sticking her robe to her skin; the freezing wind blasted against the fabric, chilling her bone-deep. Her strength and magic were rapidly draining even as she consumed Lyrium at an advanced pace. Shivering with cold her body began to succumb to exhaustion.

As the creature released him, Alistair weaved slowly to his feet. She marveled out how he still stood with the pain of flesh and bone weaving together even as new misery was inflicted.

Finally the creature lurched to the right and Alistair took advantage of the faltering to leap onto its head and drive his sword through. The beast shuddered a final breath and lay still.

* * *

Ilina's hands dropped to the ground as she bent forward sucking in the frigid air. Her knees were numb from the cold ground and the rest of her body shivered from sweat-soaked clothing.

Although she could still feel Leliana's wounds, Alistair commanded her attention and she began to crawl towards him. Maker, she was so tired. She wanted to sleep for days. _Lie here and rest, just a little while_…

Alistair groaned and somehow she managed to push herself up and stumble over and kneel beside him.

He let out a whoosh of air and cried out her name. "Ilina, Maker's breath!"

"Yes, Ali." She frantically searched him for wounds. She was panicked at the thought that she couldn't sense anything but a little pain and discomfort. No broken bones, no blood…_Where_? She thought frantically.

"Ilina!" His voice boomed in her ear. "Get! Off! My! Fingers!"

Her eyes grew wide as she followed his outstretched arm to the hand, buried under her knees. She fell backwards off his hand and bit her lip, wincing an apology.

He smiled in forgiveness and she let out a relieved breath, smiling in return. Then they both looked at the door across from them and at each other.

Alistair stood and held out his hand to her. As he pulled her up, he ruffled her hair. "We can do it," he whispered and squeezed her hand.

She nodded up at him and threw her arms around his waist. "We can do anything, Ali!"


	15. Chapter 15

The camp was unusually solemn that evening. Leliana turned in early, still reeling from their discovery today. The rest of the camp talked quietly amongst themselves - all save Morrigan, that is.

While Andraste's ashes were discussed in veiled whispers across the camp, little else that occurred that day was mentioned. The dark, oppressive revelations would forever stay locked in mutually agreed silence.

Suspicion and curiosity had garnered him questioning glances, but he was grateful no one pushed it further. He had prepared to respond to Ilina's questions once they returned to camp, but she had insinuated herself between Alistair's legs and was now leaning back against his chest, eyes closed.

Of course the would-be king was more suitable. He had been deceiving himself to think otherwise.

Zevran tried to ignore the churning in his gut as he watched Alistair's arms wrapped around her protectively. He also tried to ignore the satisfied feeling when Ilina's head snapped back into Alistair's nose just as he bent to kiss the top of her head. Not only was the sound of the templar's nose breaking gratifying, but it was enough to get the mage tossed from his lap.

When he saw her headed towards him, everything in Zev's body told him to refuse her this night. _Well may not_ _everything_, he conceded, adjustinghis breeches. When the wind carried her scent, filling his nostrils with the scent of magic and innocence, he knew refusal was impossible.

She sat beside him on the ground and stared at the fire. Her hands clenched around a large, cloth-covered object. She thrust it towards him with big eyes and a soft smile.

"For me?" he smiled in return, hoping he sounded more cheerful than he felt.

"I…" She was grinning broadly now. "Just open it!" Her hands clasped together as she bounced to her knees, facing him expectantly.

He opened the cloth to find a pair of boots. For a moment he was confused, and then the smell of the leather hit him. He turned them in his hands and ran his fingers along the sides. "This is _Antivan_ leather. I'd know that smell anywhere.

"I don't know how you found them, but thank you." He looked up at her beaming smile and felt his heart jump.

* * *

Zevran stared at the boots in admiration and awe. Ilina was melting into his smile, until…

"Now all I need is a couple of prostitutes blah blah blah blah…"

She heard nothing after 'prostitutes', her eyes reduced to slits as she glared at him.

"…fit marvelously!" he continued. Oblivious to the change in her demeanor, he lifted his foot to pull a boot on, smiling.

Her hand itched to slap the smirk off his face. Instead she rose to her feet and marched back over to Alistair, glaring at Zev over her shoulder.

Her grand exit was diminished when she tripped over Hilde and landed on Leliana's tent, pulling it down on the sleeping bard.

To her credit, Leliana struggled only a moment and then stilled. "Ilina?"

As Ilina tried to stand, her hand dug into something soft, seeking leverage. Leliana's voice went up several octaves. "Ilina! Stop moving!"

"Someone get her off me before there is nothing left of my bosom!" Leliana called over the howling of Alistair and Zevran's laughter.

Ilina felt herself lifted up by her belt. As she struggled, ineffectually kicking at the air, Sten laid her face-down on her bedroll. "It seems impossible you are a Grey Warden. I begin to think these Fereldens will be easily conquered for allowing women in the ranks."

Ilina was furious – and pouting. She threw a rock at Sten's back, missed and hit Leliana's head as it emerged from the tent. Alistair and Zevran fell over, their howls growing louder. She gave Leliana an apologetic look and quickly healed the growing bump on the bard's head. Leliana closed two fingers around the bridge of her nose and shook her head. Sighing, she began to repair her tent.

Ilina felt calloused fingers close around her hand and was once again dragged out into the forest.

* * *

_Author's note: I'd be laying if I said I hadn't - almost - deliberately waited until the morning hours to post this chapter, but then I thought about it and decided it was Sunday and certain readers(that get beeped about updates (cough)) need their beauty rest. With that said, I have up to chapter 18 written atm and beta'd so I'll forewarn everyone: I'll be posting one chapter a day for the next few days. I do so appreciate your reviews -more than you could possibly know, actually and find myself pressing F5 in a somewhat stalkerish manner on my own story stats page (i'm just kidding - kinda). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy._


	16. Chapter 16

Tonight there is no river pounding against rocks on which her thoughts can dwell. There is no clearing, or blankets, or soft fire. Only the moon and stars in a clear midnight sky catch her attention. Even as her eyes roam the heavens, her mind races with conflicting emotions.

She wants him, at least her body wants his, but she has no wish for rough lovemaking tonight. She wants no part of the icy flint that she saw in his eyes.

She's weary of it all - the lunacy of dragon worshippers, demons that close in on her during sleep, death and destruction, choices – too hard. She's drained.

She needs to sink into her cozy world of denial where everything is beautiful and perfect - where the secret she locked into her dark place never escapes.

She had chosen to sit with Alistair earlier because she wanted closeness, friendship. Zev never seemed to want the inconvenience of conversation. She is desperate for a more profound affection - one that demands nothing in return.

_And if you're with Alistair The Secret is safe, closed off from exposure - by fear _- because more than anything she wants to _live_.

The forest closes in around them until the shadow swallows them completely. Her heart beats fearfully as her free hand reaches against indiscernible obstacles. She grips his fingers, cuing him to stop. He jerks her forward again. She stumbles, as Zevran pulls her even further from camp.

He's angry, but she doesn't know why, he was laughing just moments ago. She falters and nearly falls to the ground. She's yanked again ruthlessly, cruelly onwards.

And _wait_..._she_ is the one with the right to be angry. She digs her feet into the ground and frees her hand from his. She stands there in the pitch-black of the night heaving fearful breaths. "Zev?" Her voice is a whisper lost in the empty wilderness.

She's misjudged just how dark it really is. The trees are miles high and packed close together. The light of the moon cannot breach through them. The world is silent and deadly. The only sound she can hear is her own frail heart frantically hammering at the confines of her chest.

She shrieks as he appears from nowhere behind her, his hand pulls her hair back and the other snakes up to her chin, squeezing lightly. It's a warning and she heeds it, standing still with her arms at her sides. His mouth closes around her neck, sucking lightly. Her knees are weak, shaking with the effort to stand. When he turns her head to meet his mouth, hers is already opened – waiting.

She is quaking under the touch of his tongue. She closes her mind to the small voice that whispers a warning. This was why she had stayed away from him earlier; she is unable to resist her own needs, let alone his. She is his with barely a touch.

His mouth trails along her jaw and the hand at her chin slides down into the top of her robe.

"Do you know there are poisons that I can ingest which would be harmless to me and yet be already killing you as we speak?"

Her heated blood turns to ice at his soft words. He says them casually as his mouth moves over her shoulder, pushing her robe off to give him access.

In the mysterious dark of the forest Ilina realizes she's more vulnerable than ever. But this is Zev, and even as his hand moves over her breast, pinching the nipple hard, she trusts him. She lets him know this with a soft sigh of contentment as she covers his hand with her own.

His answer is a primordial growl as he twists her around and pushes her against a nearby tree. The bark rubs painfully against her back and it's only then that she realizes her robes were near her waist.

"No loyalty to your _king_?" He presses his knee between her legs. She can feel his contempt; it's a palpable pulse between them. Her brow furrows, confusion mingles with pleasure.

"Alistair?" She gasps as his hands rubs the inside of her thigh.

It's then that she realizes why he's angry. And she's pleased and frustrated all at once. _Jealous? Is he angry she is with anyone? Or is it just Alistair?_

"Zevran, stop." Her voice is quiet but firm. She pushes against his chest and feels his racing heart beneath her fingers. She's fascinated by the strength of its beating, felt even through the thick, leather tunic. His hands move from her body to the tree, caging her. She traces her fingers up to his mouth, gliding one finger along his bottom lip. He rewards her with a shiver.

* * *

He thinks he has himself under control and then she runs her finger over his bottom lip. He shivers with need, or with excitement – or both, he's not sure. His breath sounds ragged even to his own ears and he tries, in vain, to get that under control as well.

She leans in her breath soft against his mouth. She smells of honey or flowers, again he can't decide which, he only knows it's intoxicatingly sweet – like her. His body is coiled, tense with restraint. He hasn't much self-control left and it's nearly lost on her next words.

"It's only you Zevran."

He groans and leans into her nipping softly at her bottom lip. He feels her pushing against his chest once more as he moves his hands in to grasp her hips.

"No!" She says it emphatically, shoving hard at his chest.

_No? _He must have misheard. He nibbles at her jaw while trailing a finger down her chest, satisfied when he feels her melt against him.

"Wait…" she whispers between unsteady breaths. Reluctantly he moves back and cages her between his arms again.

His forehead presses against hers and their mingled breaths are quiet and frantic. It's moments, or possibly hours, until they are both calm again. His eyes have adjusted to the night and he can make out her soft smile. He can't help but return his own.

"Can't we just…talk? Please?" Her hand trails along his ear and his life is laid bare before her at this moment if she should ask. Though he knows she will capitulate if he continues, he pulls her robe up covering her once again. Lifting her up in his arms, he carries her back to camp.


	17. Chapter 17

_I'm posting chapters 17 and 18 for you, but keeping 19 til it's done being beta'd (or perhaps it is and I'm just making you wait! – I'll never tell!). Anyway 17 is pretty angsty and needs 18…imo (or I'd still make you wait for it! __Because I'm cruel...er...__because I said a chapter a day.)_

The mountains surround them and wind sneaks through the clefts, pushing against their bodies like a giant hand. Trekking by daylight is usually silent as flurries whisk their voices off, unheard, into the heavens. They strain onwards, despite the freezing onslaught.

Confusion seems the normal state of mind for Zevran as they trudge towards Orzammar. Ilina pulls him into her tent nightly and they mostly just _talk_. It's uncomfortable and perfect, and he returns night by night seeking her delicate giggles and soft words.

The cold is a bitter bitch that snarls and bites against their skin during the day and batters the tents at night. Under the blankets Zev and Ilina speak in low breathy voices and silken caresses as it rails against the barrier of cloth.

Ilina brings up his past as an assassin one such evening and never returns to the subject. She leaves one story unasked and he holds it close to his black soul. It's a relief to be spared the reproach and sadness in her eyes – mostly he is grateful to avoid the looks of disgust and horror.

His questions often go unanswered. Sometimes she begins hurried response to his probes, but more often than not her voice trails off into unfinished sentences. Or she falls into her own closed world where he imagines magic flows in sparkling sheaths of light across meadows of brightly colored flowers. He examines her in those moments; her eyes shutter and then glaze over in a frightening manner. He brings her back to the present with bawdy suggestions or seductive caresses.

The nights are not the only time she reverts to secret places in her mind. He's more aware of the changes than the others. Only Wynne seems to notice the difference, but if she disapproves, she never says. He suspects the others may close their eyes to it. Ilina is the only softness they have left and they all cling to it urgently.

As they arrive in Orzammar he's acutely aware that neither of them has spoken of the future.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Ilina may be _in_ love with Zevran but she _loves_ Oghren. Although it smells quite bad, she wants to crawl into his beard and have a lie down in the soft tendrils. Wonderful Oghren who farts atrociously - making them all a little green - and sends Morrigan fleeing to her side of camp. Fantastically awesome Oghren who gives her ale! Which is really the best thing in the world, even though it tastes and smells like … come to think of it, she actually didn't want to think about what it _did_ taste and smell like.

But ale makes this creepy, strange, dark place, bearable - 'this place' being the Deep Roads.

Creepy was the least one could say about 'this place'. Awful, terrifying, appalling - still wouldn't cover the string of adjectives that form a cohesive ball of gloom surrounding and smothering the small group.

So when they make camp the first night, Ilina sits on Oghren's lap drinking ale and singing wonderful songs about women losing something and 'asschabs' - and Ilina doesn't know what the songs mean but it makes the dwarf laugh and laugh.

And when Oghren falls over and begins to snore, Ilina climbs up on his chest, giggling, and braids tiny little ribbons into his hair and beard - punctuating each braid with a giant bow - and then promptly passes out.

* * *

Zevran stands over the pair of drunkards with an amused look. Ilina has fallen over the dwarf's shoulder and is precariously straddling his body. He studies her form trying to decide the best way to move her without causing permanent facial damage.

Her face is somehow planted on the floor in the crook of Oghren's neck with her mass of ribboned hair entwining with his. Zev can't be sure, but he thinks her hands are under her stomach which is perched on the warrior's shoulder. She snorts – eliciting another smile from the assassin - and her body slides a little further up the dwarf's chest until that deliciously round bottom is pointing up. It's tempting to leave her in that position.

He finally decides the safest way to get her into her bed is by lifting her off the dwarf in one fell swoop. He leans over, inches away from Oghren's face, and wraps one arm around her waist ready to pull her up. Unfortunately, she chooses this instant to murmur his name which is a rather awkward time for the dwarf to open his eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

Zevran is sporting a black eye and refusing treatment from both Wynne and Ilina. Ilina is slightly confused by what he calls his "badge of bravery," because all she feels is guilt when she looks at the bruise. And honestly, how is being knocked out from a fist to the face in the least bit brave?

Oghren has been snarling at Zev, only to have flippant remarks thrown back at him. The banter continues through the dark, depressive tunnels of the Dead Trenches. It is just about the only thing that keeps Ilina from dissolving into black misery, curling up at the next juncture and sleeping until it is all over.

"I guess you're all right, _elf_" Oghren's gruff voice finally admits.

"Ah, decided that did you?" Zev is grinning and lightly slapping the dwarfs back.

At that point the banter just gets …weird… and Ilina struggles to keep up with their meaning.

Oghren seems to want to make amends, without actually having to apologize for the black eye.

"Sooo, Antiva..." the dwarf growls, sounding a little unsure. "Wonderful..uh..place. Full of … Antivans."

Ilina winces and shakes her head.

"Oghren, if you want to bed me, you only need to ask."

Alistair makes a strangled sound from the front of the pack.

Ilina's eyebrow rises and she tries to not picture that particular image.

Oghren draws his sword.

Zev…just stares ahead with a serene smile on his face.

"Jesting, my foul-smelling friend." He finally says, patting Oghren once again on the back. And looking completely serious, he stares ahead and adds, "You are only slightly more attractive than a swim in the Ferelden sewers."

"Better be," the dwarf huffs.

Ilina sniggers.

Zev smiles at her and winks. "You have my oath," he tosses back to the dwarf.

Ilina giggles some more.

* * *

They continue down through a tunnel with walls pulsing with various kinds of red gooey masses made of…ugh…something which Ilina doesn't want to think about. And then the creepy voice begins reciting the scariest poetry she's ever heard.

By the time they reach the poetess, Hespbeth, Ilina has goose bumps the size of chicken's eggs.

Hespith's story was doubtless the most terrifying thing Ilina ever heard. The woman was forced to watch her friends destroy each other in the most debasing ways. The healer in her is torn between throwing up and hugging the poor woman.

"But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed. Branka... my love...." Hespith's voice was torment and pain. It silences the group with pity and disgust.

As they stand and listen to her story, Ilina slips her hand into Zevran's. He squeezes, briefly, and lets go.

The dwarf suddenly runs off down the halls of the burrowed out stone.

They carry on down the tunnels, following Hespith's disappearing form. The viscous masses of crimson, palpitating 'Uck' (Ilina had dubbed it) are now covering the walls completely, and the smell was overpowering. Ilina begins to gag from the coppery scent of bloody, rotting flesh.

No one is even breathing (at least it seems that way to Ilina) as they walk over the corpulent, squishy-sounding, fleshy UCK. She begins to giggle, hysterically, at the thought that pops in her head: _It sounds like one of Oghren's gassy moments._

The others look at her with wide eyes and shake their heads. She shrugs at them and blanches as her foot squishes into another mass, eliciting a gurgle as she tries to smother another laugh.

The passageway opens up and then funnels them into a curved, tight corner. As they round the edge, Alistair jumps back with a horrified intake of breath, throwing his arms out protectively and halting their march. As if a string of echoes answer his, each of them gasp in turn at the monstrosity greeting them.

"Broodmother." Hespith's voice crawls and twists along Ilina's spine as she stares at the object of the dwarf's statement.

Her tears begin to fall even as the others charge forward.


	20. Chapter 20

It's a little desperate – the laughter - on the road back to Redcliffe. Everyone is painfully aware that Ilina is no longer with them - at least mentally.

Alistair is a rock, stoic and hard in every way and he distances himself from everyone except the mage. She has been at his side every moment since they left Orzammar and not even Zevran has been able to penetrate the waking dream she's been in.

Ilina eats, drinks, sleeps and cries. It's a circular path her body wanders and you can almost time the regularity of each movement; shaking shoulders, silent sob, step. By the time they reach the castle, everyone is on edge and gloom has set into their steps.

Zev has just about had it with the templar's covetous arms around his woman. _His woman? When had that happened? _He grabs her hand and pulls her to him and lifts his chin at Alistair's disapproving glare. His eyes narrow in challenge and the human's gaze softens. He nods at the elf and turns his face back to the road.

Zevran holds Ilina a few moments and lets the others pass them. She sags against him, sobbing and he squares his shoulders. He needs the others out of earshot and eyesight for what he is about to do.

When the only sounds around him are the soft sobs she makes against his chest, Zev pushes her away.

"I'm sorry for this, my bellissima," he whispers closing his eyes. He reopens them, steels himself and slaps her across the face as soft and as hard as he can stand.

Her crying abruptly stops and she stares at him shocked. Her eyes grow wide and the hurt in them is enough to make his knees weak. He wants to pull her in his arms again and kiss her face, beg her forgiveness, but he stands there resolute. _When did I become this soft?_ He thinks, disappointed in himself.

Finally, she enrages. Her eyes grow impossibly wide and her lips curl in a snarl. "You…you…you…_hit_ me. You hit _me_!" Her hand flies up and he makes no move to duck the smack that is returned. His head actually snaps from the force and both shocked by her strength. He brings his hands up to his his jaw as he rotates it. He's a little proud of his mage at this moment. And then she is punching him with small fists and kicking him with hard leather clad toes. He wants to take the full force of her anger but, Maker, her blows are actually painful. He grabs her wrists and tries to dodge her feet.

"Stop!" He shakes her slightly. And she finally stills, breathless and seething out furious puffs of hot air.

"Why, Andraste's fire? Why would you _hit_ me?"

"It was necessary and I am sorry, I've never any wish to hurt you. But it has been weeks, Ilina, and you cannot avoid the world any longer."

"Weeks?" She looks stunned. "Weeks," she whispers.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I could not see another way to bring you back."

"Well" she huffs and put her hands on her hips. "You might have tried _kissing_ me first!"

He blinks, and looks at her, denial on his lips. He closes his mouth and let the refutation die in his throat, because, actually, the thought never even occurred to him.

Ilina stomps off and he is grateful because for the first time in his entire shame-filled, lecherous life, Zevran Aranai blushes.


	21. Chapter 21

Everyone is comfortable at the castle - everyone except Ilina. She misses the stars in the black sky. The midnight heavens are stories of ancient legends and romances that span an eternity. It is lovers that cry rivers of tears to reach one another and beautiful warrior-women who earn special places in the heart of the Maker with their bow skills. So although the castle is warm from the fire in her chamber - and although she lies in a soft bed with Hilde at her side -and although she is clean from a hot bath - Ilina misses sleeping outside.

And she aches for Zevran's touch, his soft whispers and strong arms - longs to smell his spicy breath and feel his soft kisses on her skin. Her heart physically grieves for the loss of him. She's been his just once, completely, and now is regretting the wasted nights of chatter. A contraction in her chest squeezes tears from her eyes and she wipes them away with rough hands. Loneliness is brutal and empty and she wonders how one can be filled with something and yet so desolate.

Alistair will be king in a few days, and she feels the physical pain of that too. Dear sweet Alistair, who held her the night they left Cullen a broken man with dead eyes. Ali, who somehow filled the void Jowan's betrayal left.

She turns and hugs her pillow. Jowan…another decision she'd had to make today. First Alistair as king, then the Landsmeet and then they'd brought in Jowan. Dears sweet Jowan, whose crimes multiplied tenfold when he left the tower. Why had they asked her what to do with him when they had no inclination of listening to her? They wanted vengeance, she understood that. But Maker, hadn't there been enough death? Hadn't they all lost enough? When was everyone going to stop paying for Loghain's crimes? She saved their son and they repay her by imprisoning Jowan.

_What's left for me now? Stop thinking of yourself –selfish! I promise I'll come for you Jowan – I promise._

Silence. It hovers in the air like fog, smothering voices and thoughts alike. The room is a coffin with grey stone lining.

Ilina concentrates on the fire in the hearth, the crackle and pop of embers flying upwards, escaping into the winter night. She's so focused on the fire she misses the door opening and Alistair entering.

"Hello, Mouse," he whispers softly, climbing into bed beside her. _Mouse_, something she probably won't hear again after he's crowned. A cherished nickname given from her adventures in the Fade. One more loss. Should she start keeping count – or would the tally be too high for sanity?

"Ali," she sighs, turning and resting her head on his chest - listening to the soft beats of his heart. She breathes again and traces patterns on his tunic. His heart races faster and she frowns with confusion. He wraps one hand around her shoulder and gently strokes her hair with the other. His heart slows again and she relaxes in his embrace.

"Feeling sorry for yourself, Mouse?" His voice was teasing, but it was a reprimand. His finger slid under her chin urging her eyes to meet his. She pasted a smile on her face and looked at him. His finger touched her nose playfully and she grinned.

"It hasn't all been terrible. I know it feels like that now, but it hasn't."

"It's going to get terrible Ali. I feel it. Can't you feel it? It's this darkness - this damnable oppressive murky feeling that is like drowning while breathing air. _You_ will be king and raise beautiful babies with some lovely princess from … from … Orlais or Antiva. And yes, I'm happy about that." She rose and stood by the fire. "And so damn envious. And I hate that. I hate that I'm jealous! Oghren has someone, Shale and Wynne have been talking about traveling with Leliana – if you mention Morrigan I'll pop you in the nose. And I can't do this on my own."

Alistair grins and crosses his legs on the bed, resting his head against his hands. He looked so pleased and comfortable while she was in turmoil that she wanted to crack him in the nose just for spite.

"You'll always have me, Mouse." He gives her a knowing smile. "And you have Zevran."

And there it was - what she'd been avoiding for weeks.

"Zevran does not love…anyone." She said quietly, wrapping her arms around her waist - suddenly feeling cold and empty again.

"Zevran loves you, it's not possible to not love you Ilina." He laughs without mirth. "Damn if I don't love you, Mouse."

She whips her head around and gapes at him.

"Don't look at me with such surprise. Did you think I would let you walk about in dazes or fall over things constantly - or do something stupid like letting an assassin, hired to kill you, join our ranks - if I hadn't been so stupidly in love with you?"

She flops in a nearby chair with a whoosh having no idea how to respond to this declaration.

Hilde whines and, deciding they need privacy, leaves the room.

"But you never…it's not…Why did you never say anything?" She stares at the fire again. It's her second declaration of love in a year, the first being Cullen. And wasn't it some kind of divine irony that both of those men end up destroyed because of her? One a reluctant king and the other a – _no, not thinking about that_.

"Mouse, look at me." He's off the bed, hands at her shoulders, turning her to him. "By the time I wanted to do anything it wouldn't have been fair – to either of us. You're beautiful and perfect and so many wonderful things, but you're still a mage. And if you want me to be a good king, you know that anything which happened between us would end terribly."

A mage. The words hurt, but she knew them to be true. Alistair would change how the world viewed mages, but more importantly he'd be good for the country – for people and elves. Zevran.

She throws her arms around him and squeezes. "Oh Ali, I'm terribly sorry I'm such a dolt. You'll be a grand king. And that princess will be more beautiful than you can imagine."

"With big…" She punches him in the stomach, cutting off his air.

"Ow. I was going to say eyes." He chuckles, rubbing his belly.

"Yes, quite."

"I didn't come to talk about this, however. He took a deep breath. "We need to discuss the Landsmeet and… Andraste's ass, Ilina, you have to start behaving like an adult."

She blanches and sucks back tears. Oh, how that hurt, but again he was right. He was always right. Yes. Quite," she repeats, softly.

"I'm sorry, Mouse, but you can't look to me for answers in the next few days. Everyone will be looking to you. I will help as much as I can, but you took charge at the beginning when I was … preoccupied – and now they'll expect you to be strong." His voice was quiet, softening the blow, as it were. She understands.

"Great. Wonderful. Get out," she says with a smile.

"That's my girl," he whispers, and to her shock grips her cheeks in both his hands and brushes his lips across hers.

She still has her eyes closed when the door clicks shut.

* * *

Zevran sleeps naked. This is the first thing she realizes when she enters his room and sees the outline of his lower body under the sheets. He also sleeps very soundly, is her second thought, although she _has_ _been_ very quiet – walking on tip-toe, and carefully shutting the door. She stands quite proudly, for a moment, and then the light of the fire whisks over his bare chest and arms and she gulps back the saliva that forms in her mouth.

The rooms in the castle seemed designed to reflect light from the fireplaces just perfectly. It leaps and quivers in flares of quick illuminations, teasing her senses with the potent beauty of his sun-bronzed skin. _Powerful_, that describes him utterly. Every moment she looks at him, her heart beats a little faster.

Her body can't contain the sheer joy and hunger at just watching his slumber. Passion rushes through her - a flood of fiery blood which collides into the center of her being like a tidal wave enveloping a ship.

"Deciding whether to kill me?" His voice sounds amused, but there is a dark storm brewing in his eyes. He sits up and the sheet falls to his hips making her lick and bite her lower lip. "Or perhaps your king didn't satisfy your needs?"

Ah, so that was it. She wasn't going to have this conversation every day. "Zevran, Alistair is like a brother to me. And this particular discussion is over."

Zev raises an eyebrow and lowers his lids to half mast. She counters with a double brow raise, and is pleased when her back stiffens in resoluteness.

"Very well, Ilina." Her name on his lips sends swirls of butterflies into a tornado of flight in her belly. He leans back casually on his elbows and she feels the growl come up her throat like a wild beast. The muscles of his torso tighten, causing every hair on her body to prickle in awareness.

He smiles, knowingly.

"Rules." She manages to say between choppy breaths.

"Oh? This should be good."

She's going to wipe that cocky grin off his face. "Your arms stay on the bed. You do not speak or move. Agreed?" She sounds like an officer speaking to his men, she realizes, with a mental giggle - but that's only because she can barely speak.

He tilts his head slightly and seems to be sizing her up. Finally, he nods and lies back down, arms at his sides. His smile is now nervous.

Trust. Love. Learning. That is what tonight is about for Ilina. She moves to stand next to the bed.

"Close your eyes." And she's surprised when he acquiesces immediately. She'd been prepared for an argument. As his eyes flutter against his cheeks she lets herself study him. Her other examinations had resulted in a frenzy of blushing and eyes squeezed shut.

He has a scar – well he has many scars, but this one is enormous - wide and long it trails from his collar bone to just above the shoulder. She traces it softly with her finger. His breath speeds up, chest rising and falling, rapidly. She smiles and wonders if he feels this way because of _her_ hand - would any work the same magic?

Her finger continues its journey, over the soft curly hairs of his chest and swirls around the hardened peaks of his chest. _Zevran_, her mind whispers in awe. _What would drive you into desperate heaps of passion as you have done to me? _She scrapes her nail over his nipple and his fingers grab and release the sheets. _Oh. _She smiles.

Dragging her nail along his stomach, over the hard ridged, muscles, which twitch under her finger, she reaches the top of the sheet and slowly pulls it down. Her breath hitches in her throat as she takes in every detail of his body. _His_ breathing becomes ragged.

The fire is a soft movement of light which flickers over his skin, opening it up to her scrutiny. The ropey muscles of his lean calves and thighs, the contrast of light golden skin of his legs to the dark browned skin of his chest, the hard flesh of his shaft stirring against her touch – they mesmerize her.

Her finger moves along his hip and over the velvet softness encasing him. He jerks and sucks in a small hiss of air. She is barely touching him and his control was slipping.

She climbs slowly onto the bed and pushes her knee between his – something she learned from him. Sitting back on her heels between his legs, she takes an uneasy breath. _Am I crazy_? She couldn't – shouldn't…

_Shush! Tonight I am fearless – powerful - the warrior that everyone thinks I am._ Tonight she doesn't care what is _allowed_, she only cares about claiming every part of this man as her own.

She wraps her hand around his swollen flesh and watches in shock as his hips rise up on a moan. Leaning over she moves her tongue over the soft, purple tip. Zevran's fingers grip the sheets so hard it pulls them from his body completely. Bolstered, she slips the whole of his tip into her mouth and is rewarded by a deep, husky moan.

Her fingers reach up and scratch the length of his stomach and his body arches magnificently into her touch. His breaths are fast and hard and she focuses her efforts as he grits his teeth. It's fantastic – this sense of power – and she revels in how she drives his breathing, the way his body jerks and arches as her mouth moves over him. Each swirl of her tongue compels him to squeeze the bed linens tighter in his hands or buck against her mouth. He pulses once in her mouth and she halts briefly before excitement overcomes her and she moves her mouth faster.

"Ilina, Ilina, Ilina." Her name is a frantic whisper on his lips, breaking their code of silence, and this too delights her - spurs her. And there it is, the moment he reaches his heights and he's screaming her name in a succession of thrusts, bucking wildly. He pushes into her mouth in a final, feral thrust and pours himself into her. He flops back down on the bed, breaths uneven and hoarse.

She rises to her knees, overcome by the power of his orgasm, and sits there in awe, marveling at her own power. It's a savory moment cut short when he grabs her robe front and pulls her on top of him. His hands dive into her hair and he leans up pressing his lips against hers.

She opens her mouth, allowing his tongue to meet hers, the pads of her fingers lightly running over his chest. She smiles against his mouth and melts into his kiss.

"My turn," he whispers. He trails kisses along the curve of her ear, and she feels his fingers slide up her inner thigh.


	22. Chapter 22

Dinner at the Arl Eamon's table is a time for reflecting. They're to set out for Denerim in the morning and Ilina is bone tired, and yet after dinner there is to be _more_ discussions. Alistair has stated – or decreed, she should say – that he will be king. Arl Eamon is discussing how to placate Anora and turn the nobles to their favor. And Ilina is contemplating pouring honey on Zevran and licking it all off.

Getting moments alone with Zev has been nothing short of frustrating. Between all the tactic decisions, talks about Anora (UGH) and the worry over the darkspawn, Ilina has fallen asleep before her body even lands on the bed. While Zevran waits in the rooms for her nightly, it would be nothing short of a miracle if she could rouse for an Archdemon invasion, let alone lovemaking. So though he doesn't give up the attempts, he does allow her to just sleep in his arms – which appears to keep the most perplexed look on his face.

Anora this, Anora that, we need her on our side etc. Anora, Anora, Anora. She hasn't even met the Queen and the woman is already annoying her. And if they aren't going on and on about Anora, it's Loghain. Ilina has no understanding of father-daughter relationships, and therefore has no sympathy – or empathy – for Anora, whatsoever. And, it seems to Ilina that if Anora _is_ the queen, she's just as guilty as Loghain for everything that's happened. So why should she remain on the throne at all?

Alistair, ever the peacemaker, points out that Anora has been a very good queen and was really the decision maker with Cailan. And while Ilina has no concept of politics, she can recognize that pointing out the positive points about someone you plan to usurp, probably won't help your objective. And, besides, under Anora and Cailan's rule the elves in the Alienage have rioted. To Ilina's mind that is as much as calling for their subjugation. Anora will not be queen, even at Alistair's side – that Ilina promises to herself – and Ser I'm So Grateful You Saved My Life I'll Imprison Your Best Friend Under Your Protest – can go hang himself!

One thing Ilina is grateful for is Zev's advisement. Although she never liked Prince Bhelen (hated, comes to mind), Zev made a difficult decision much easier by pointing out how weak Harrowmount was. A year ago she would have no understanding of why a perfectly nice fellow couldn't be king. Today she harbors no illusions. There is a certain ruthlessness needed, and even she is not immune to it. So when Zevran brings up Alistair and Anora, she listens.

"It is something to think about," Zevran whispers in her ear. She wants to poke him in the eye with sharp sticks, because, yes, it _is_ a good idea, but she will _not_ marry Alistair off to that harpy.

"No," she says simply.

"As you wish."

"Do you know what she would do to the elves in the cities? Not to mention the Dalish." She pushes a potato around on her plate, it slips off and rolls somewhere under the table. Ilina looked around to see if anyone notices and breathes a sigh of relief.

"It is, perhaps, selfish to think of elves when there are so many to be saved by avoiding civil war."

"Yes. But I trust Alistair, not only for the elves, but the Grey Wardens. When this is all over, we'll need to rebuild. A Grey Warden on the throne will bring recruits _to_ us." She widened her eyes a moment, realizing she had just made a political decision.

Oghren snorts. "Ask me the elves should stay in the forest and let the humans thin their own ranks a bit."

"To thin humans!" Ilina lifts her glass and slams it against Oghren's before downing its contents in several gulps. Her glass is immediately refilled.

Oghren grins at the mage and lifts his glass again. "To short healers and loose women!"

Ilina nods in acknowledgment and joins in his toast. "Short..hic…healers…and flappy girls.!" She tosses back a second glass.

Oghren spits out his ale.

Zevran puts his forehead in his palm and covers her glass when a servant attempts to refill it.

Alistair, Eamon and Teagan look up from their quiet whispers – the soon-to-be king closing his eyes and shaking his head.

Ilina puts her hands under her armpits and mimes flapping and begins yelling, "I'm a loosh…looosh…looth…flappy woman!" She giggles, snorts and falls sideways off her chair.

Bouncing up she wobbles and sits again, waving a dismissive hand, " 'm all right. 's all right. Hic." Before falling face first into the soup bowl.

"Ah, my delicate flower," Zev whispers before pulling her face out of the soup and wiping it off.

She snores in response.

As Zev carries her out of the dining hall, a loud crash can be heard, followed by apologies of "…slipped on a potato".


	23. Chapter 23

It's nothing he's ever experienced and everything for which he could hope. She lays in his arms, snoring loudly, her delicate fingers splay against his chest. He studies every exposed inch of her body. The sheet wraps around her back and swirls around her leg. Her other leg nestles between his and he is acutely aware of the warmth – it is both arousing and tranquil. As his gaze travels along her face, he realizes her skin is rarely soft and he prefers it that way – so different from his Rinna.

Rinna, a magnificent and dangerous rogue - a whirlwind to Ilina's battering storm. Rinna had sucked him into a vortex of excited laughs and daring moments, while his little mage had simply pounded at him until his seeking shelter was futile. What he thought was one feeling, couldn't even compare to his current one. Rinna with her perfumed-scented soft skin, softened by milk baths - and a toughness that rivaled his own - could never compete with the smell of sunshine, magic, and wind-weathered skin that surrounded Ilina. She is summer rain on the heels of a tornado reducing it to a soft breeze – a gentle reminder of the importance of trust. But, for all her soft rain, she is also the frantic, unsuspecting thunderstorm that sneaks into the world on a lazy, sunny, summer afternoon. He has stopped fighting the push and pull of her whimsical breath and simply allows himself to be carried along. She is a storm, but she is also the quiet after a storm and he finds peace in the calm as well as the turmoil.

He trails a finger along her bare shoulder and she giggles softly in her sleep, and snorts. His smile is bittersweet as he inhales a shaky breath. His hand moves to stroke the mismatched ribbons tangled in her hair. She finds them everywhere and braids them in the minute she picks them up. There were but three or four when he first met her, and now there are dozens. They range from pink to grey - and some are so poignant, even he is moved.

A green leather piece she said came from a Dalish hunter they had saved in the woods, long before she met him.

Another red ribbon from the Dalish – a woman they were forced to kill because she was cursed. That ribbon, Ilina had relayed, was the one that hurt the most, "because we could have saved her, Zev".

A piece of beige, jagged cloth braided in at Carridan's Cross from a young man who, tainted by darkspawn, they were forced to kill - a mercy, really – but her heart had broken on the lie to his mother. "He died a hero," she had said, and Zevran had held her that night as the tears flowed freely.

She is soft and charming - innocent as a kitten, but she is also hard and steadfast – as strong as her Mabari. He is awed by both her strength and sweetness, and how she retains the latter after everything that's happened.

As his fingers lift a strand of double-ribboned hair, he recognizes the ornate leather from his own tunic and boots. He knows if he rose up and looked at them closely, he'd see the tell-tale missing strips from their weaves. If he wasn't so touched, he'd shake his head in exasperation.

As the dawn breaks in Denerim, she stirs against his chest and he pastes on a cheerful grin.

* * *

_Oh dear Maker who is sticking daggers into my head? I surrender. _This is Ilina's first thought as her right eye opens a touch, and she wonders what kind of monster puts a lit candle into someone's eye first thing in the morning. Her first _coherent_ thought is: _When did breathing become a form of torture_? Each breath Zevran takes causes her feel like a hare is beating its back legs against her skull repeatedly.

The knock on the door sends her onto her knees in waves of shock. Pressing her hands against her skull she falls off the bed backwards, legs in the air. "Self-conscious" is not a word in her dictionary at the moment as she turns and covers her head with her hands, rocking on her elbows and knees.

Zevran throws a blanket over her and she hears him at the door. Every word makes the hare thump her head again. The blanket muffles the words, but not the loud echoes in her brain.

"..Anora"

"…ready"

"…Arl"

She presses her hands harder to close out the sound.

"Ale," she whispers holding her hand out from under the blanket as Zev arrives next to her. It's the only thing that has worked the last few days after waking up to this same damn rabbit's feet.

"No more ale, little mage."

_Thump thump thump._

"Can't move, need ale," she grinds out through clenched teeth.

_No ale?_ _Well that settles it, he is incapable of love._

"The Arl wishes your presence, immediately."

"Of course he does, probably needs his bottom wiped or maid murdered or perhaps his toes licked."

More thumping.

_I'll go when I'm damn good and ready…which may be never because I'm quite sure I'm about to die. _She sighs. "Just give me a few moments." Because anyway, they would probably drag her corpse, reanimate it and send it off to do whatever they needed.

"If you continue to wiggle that bottom in the air as so, I will have to take advantage of the situation, as it were."

She wiggles.

It's a number of hours before she walks in to meet the Arl.


	24. Chapter 24

"Can someone explain exactly why I agreed to this insanity?" Ilina is miffed. She's never wanted to kill an elf before, but that whiny, Olesian maid has strummed the last of her heartstrings. And if one more person mentions the words "poor" and "Anora" in the same sentence, Ilina is going to seriously consider defecting to the darkspawn.

She's pacing at the fireplace in Zevran's chambers. The rogue casually lies on the rumpled bed linens, while Alistair slumps in the corner chair next to the hearth. Both watch quietly while she twists her fingers together, ripping at the nails. They have wisely chosen silence, even when asked specific questions, since her outburst moments ago when she had scowled and told them both to shut up.

She's about had it with them all and their tactical logic.

* * *

Zevran is entranced by this side of his little mage. Her green eyes spit fire, and as she paces her hands vary between ripping skin from her finger, to flailing in the air - braids whipping with a toss of her head.

Neither he nor Alistair has seen her livid, and both are wary of mishaps which occur when she is just trying to be _helpful_, let alone frantically asking rhetorical questions with scowls and sarcasm. It seems an unspoken agreement to keep their tongues in their heads.

"I keep hearing about this genius of a woman who ruled Ferelden while her husband stunned the world with his ignorance and glory-seeking. I'm at a loss as to how this is possible. She 'suspects' her father may have had something to do with the death of her husband? _Suspects_? What was her first clue? The death of Cailan, followed by every soldier in his army, while, miraculously, her _father_, and _his_ entire force, are spared?" She looked at Alistair who opened his mouth only to be cut off. "Or maybe the other clue might have been the ridiculous rumor of the _entire_ Ferelden Grey Warden army throwing themselves at the darkspawn in a heroic suicide attempt of epic proportion, leaving two blue recruits to carry the torch and stop the Blight?"

"I don't believe she was privy to all that information and it's "green" recruits." Zevran briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head at Alistair, giving the man a piteous look. Ah well, the Templar hadn't much experience with women, that was obvious.

Ilina glares daggers at the warrior. "And yet I'm to consider putting her on the throne? A woman who is so far under her father's thumb he kidnaps her and only has _us_ to lead a rescue? Fat lot of confidence I have in her ability to lead a nation."

"I believe you're supposed to _tell_ her that you're considering her for the throne, not actually _do_ it." Zevran looks at Alistair with wide eyes, and exhales with a resigned shake of his head. Ilina nearly bellows flames at the Templar. "Sorry, yes." Alistair throws his hands up in defense. "Daft woman, getting kidnapped and all. What was I thinking?" Zev nods in approval.

Ilina looks mollified and resumes pacing. "I cannot imagine how we are to break into an Arl's estate and trust the word of some flighty woman who by all accounts could be leading us into a trap."

"Well we haven't a choice really. We need Anora's voice at the Landsmeet." Alistair stands and stops her pacing with hands on her arms. He leans down eye-to-eye and Zevran's hair prickles up on the back of his neck. "Mouse—"

"Yes, alright. I get it. Be a big girl. Suck it up. Soldier on. Blah blah blah." She blows the hair out of her face, unknowingly spitting in Alistair's face during the process. He blinks and wipes his eyes, amused. With a sigh and quick ruffle of her hair, he's out the door.

"What have _you_ got to say about all this?" She turns to Zev, hands on her hips.

"I do believe you are the most beautiful woman in Ferelden." She eyes him suspiciously for a moment through squinted eyes; he returns a guileless smile.

"Yes…well, I _suppose_ we should be on our way." The blush staining her cheeks is lovely to behold.

* * *

The back roads of Denerim are not a place for the faint of heart. They're accosted by bandits – twice – and Ilina's mood has turned from foul to black. The first two attacks are amateur and Zevran feels little pity for the unskilled louts. The third attack, however, stops his heart.

The road opens up into a cobbled courtyard, and as they reach the stairway leading to the next road, their way is blocked by a tanned leather-clad man with a dangerous smile.

Zevran prays to the Maker that his secret is not about to be revealed.

"And so here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The Crows send their greetings, once again."

He steps out of the shadows and briefly closes his eyes, knowing the life he has is about to end one way another. "So they sent you, Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?"

"When I heard the great Zevran had gone rogue, I had to volunteer to see for myself." The assassin laughs.

"Well here I am."

"Come back with me, Zevran. I know why you chose this mission, but it's not too late, we'll make up a story – no one needs to know." Taliesen eyes Ilina's protective step toward Zevran with a smirk. "_No one_," he repeats.

Zev's heart starts beating like a runaway horse. He dares not look at Ilina. She surprises him by stepping between them. "Zevran is with me now." Her chin is high – challenging - and he has never been more proud to stand with her. He blinks hard against the overwhelming relief releasing panic's rigid grasp on his soul.

Taliesen throws back his head in a laugh. "You have no idea who you're talking about."

"And neither do you, Taliesen. I'm sorry, my friend, but the answer is no." His voice is low, solemn. But this will be one death Zevran will never regret. "You should have stayed in Antiva." His dagger arcs sideways in a flash, taking the first hidden rogue by surprise. The man goes down with a hand clutched to his throat and Zevran is already moving to the next.

They are quickly surrounded by assassins and archers; Alistair is barely holding them back as their leader drives him backwards in a brutal assault.

Zevran and the dog are in silent collusion as they drag down the archers first. The enemies are dispatched expediently, and they are finally able to rush to Alistair's aid. As Zev seeks an opening, he notices Taliesen is twisting in agony, as if in the grips of an Ogre. He glances at Ilina with an incredulous gaze.

Her face is contorted in rage and her eyes are dangerous. The crimson streaks spilling down her face alert him that her fury has escalated to something disturbing. He is so attuned to her healing, he almost misses the scarlet streaks of light exploding from her fingers. She wipes blood away from her nose with a swipe of her sleeve, and the fingers of her other hand coil, then flex towards the Crow. Her eyes are glazed and wide and her lips are open, exhaling heavy breaths, she appears in the throes of passion; only the subtle sneer distinguishes it as a different type of pleasure.

Taliesen writhes again, opening up his back to Zevran; the opportunity is not wasted as Zev's blades sink into soft flesh and twist with satisfaction. The assassin falls to his knee and topples over in a gasping heap, twisting to stare into his killer's eyes with an accusing look.

Alistair is angrier than Zevran has ever seen him, rushing to Ilina's kneeling form and pulling her up. Blood is dripping from her eyes and nose and she looks at Alistair with guilt and terror evident in her face.

The Templar backs away in disgust and is looking at Ilina like she is the archdemon itself. "Blood magic?" he bites out. "Where?"

Ilina jumps at question, petrified. "The Keep," she whispers, bending with a cough of blood. "Avernus' experiments. I…I drank it." Her fingers glow blue and she begins to recover.

Alistair blinks and his shoulders sag a bit. He finally breathes a sigh, running his hands through his hair. He walks to her, shaking her shoulders, gently. "I've an idea of what possessed you today." He glances at Zevran and holds his hand up to the rogue, who is brandishing his daggers and eyeing Alistair with deadly intent. "But you are never, ever to use that again. Understood?" She nods and wipes her face with her sleeve again. "Never mind that it is, in all probability, evil, it's dangerous for mages to practice blood magic because it opens you up to _demons_! You were just lucky today."

He releases her shoulders. "Clean up, Mouse." Using the name to let them know he wasn't angry anymore. The rogue finally sheathes his daggers.

Ilina's teeth begin to chatter as the warrior turns on his heel and disappears around the corner. Her anger and terror, it seems, have bled out in the wake of Alistair's own wrath and subsequent forgiveness.

The Templar and the dog push forward, leaving Zev alone with her. She turns to him and he is flooded with a foreign emotion so strong it nearly knocks him off his feet. He moves to her and rips a makeshift rag from his pack of bandages, wiping the blood from her cheeks and lips.

"Taliesen is dead and I am free of the Crows." He murmurs it quietly, avoiding eye contact, hoping the change of subject settles her a little.

She presses her fingers against his tunic, and sighs with a tentative smile. "That's a good thing, right?"

"A very good thing." His follows his chuckle with a quick kiss. "It's everything I hoped for the day you spared my life. I could go away somewhere, I suppose, and hide from the Crows" She looked into his eyes, distressed. "But saving the world seems the least I could do, no?"

"You better not leave. I would be sorely put out!" Her forehead presses against his shoulder.

"Well…" He chuckled, joy coursing through his veins, "we can't have that can we?" He pulls her back and looks into her eyes, smiling. "I believe we have a task to complete, yes?"

Her scowl elicits another chuckle, but she turns and heads towards Alistair. "Yes, save the evil queen from her dastardly father who will, in all likelihood, call for our execution followed by her instant agreement! By all means, let us continue."

Her sardonic comment produces a grin. The grin widens as he hears her blow her nose in the most indelicate way. He can't help but realize that every day he finds a new endearing aspect of this beautiful human.

* * *

_**Sorry for the very early morning posting of this chapter (to certain people whose phones awaken them at ungawdly hours with update beeps! *cough Zell*)**_

_**And thank you for your kind, awesome reviews - which literally make my day- even as the story "tweests"™ (trademarked by crisium) - to those of you still with me ... let's pray Ilina doesn't blow up Denerim castle =(**_


	25. Chapter 25

Ilina no longer lives in a world of Make Believe, she lives in a world called "Of Course". So when they come upon the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden she isn't thinking "_Awesome!"_ She's thinking, "_la la la la la not listening, not listening." _Unfortunately, she is listening.

Riordan – Ser Grey Warden of More Ominous Awful News Than You Wanted to Hear - announces that the other Grey Wardens were sent back at the border.

_Of course_.

They won't be coming to help while there is the possibility of civil war.

_Of course._

And unless Loghain still has the vials, they will be unable to complete the joining ritual in order to recruit other Wardens.

_Naturally._

_Well, it really can't get much worse_.

The dungeon door looms, mockingly, against the aged stone of the upper prison walls.

"Well, it can't be get much worse." Alistair's echo of her thoughts pushes dread into every beat of her heart.

She swallows hard and realizes that courage isn't as elusive as she once thought. It only requires an icy plague to freeze the blood and numb the brain.

* * *

Howe's dungeons are an aspect in horror which makes Ilina want to crawl back into The Land of Make Believe. It is with the greatest effort that she manages to drag one foot in front of the other. So much death. So many _people_. But at least they saved some - and that is how she encourages her body to trudge forward. It even works - for a little while.

Eventually, she's floats in a sort of foggy daze, pulled along by invisible cords attached to her body. They lift, twist, turn and pull her along after the others. She is the well-mastered puppet of a brilliant puppeteer.

The puppeteer lifts a string and there she is at a caged door with a ruined Templar, mad from lyrium withdrawal.

Twist, and there is a boy tortured on a rack, flesh broken and battered.

Turn - an elf imprisoned, his bride-to-be murdered on their wedding day.

Pull, Howe looks up at her, his blood pooling under her feet.

Another dance of the cords and she watches Alistair's blade sink into the Arl of Denerim's son.

She gives over to the master of her strings and gently crawls back into the dark regions of her mind.

* * *

They climb upwards and the coiling staircase grows darker as the light from the door at the bottom fades. Zevran Aranai isn't one for superstitions but the hairs on the back of his neck are rising slowly as shadow slowly consumes her body.

He watches Ilina's slow descent into her mind with alarm. He grasps her hand and gives it a squeeze. She blinks momentarily and looks at him and manages a thin smile, and releases his hand, eyes starting to glaze over again.

"Care for more poetry?"

"Um…" Her eyes widen, and blink. She looks at him anxiously. "Thank you, but… I'm not sure you can top that other…poem."

He chuckles softly as the brightness returns to her eyes. "Perhaps we'll see later exactly what can top poetry?"

As predicted she turns a most fascinating shade of red just as the door to Anora's room opens.

"And I thought _I_ looked ridiculous in the guard disguise." As soon as the words leave her lips, Ilina's hand slaps against her mouth, eyes wide, staring at the Queen dressed in warrior armor.

Their escape is cut short by the armed guards and Loghain's second in command. Zev prepared for a difficult battle with a deep breath.

"Wardens, surrender your arms, you're under arrest for the murder of Arl Rendon Howe."

He draws his weapons, but Ilina lays her hand softly on his arms. "No more killing. She is but a soldier following orders."

"We will come peacefully, Cauthrien, if you'll agree to let the others free." Alistair's strong voice brooks command.

"Very well. Take the two Wardens and leave the others, the warrant is for the wardens."

"Ferelden _dogs_!" He spits out, stepping in front of Ilina, weapons drawn. Her hand stays his arm again.

"If we kill them, we're no better than _him_. Some things are more-"

Alistair interrupts her plea. "Zev, we have more important things to worry about. Remember why we came here."

He lowers his weapons slowly, looking into her eyes. He watches as a soldier grabs her arm and pulls her out the door. Hilde's head nudges his hand and the dog issues a whine.

"Yes, do not worry, my smelly, little friend. We will get her back." His eyes are merely slits as he glares at the door.

Short bark, followed by a growl.

"What? When I said 'Ferelden dogs' I meant it in the most positive way. As in 'you fierce Ferelden dogs'!"

Hilde sneezes on his leg, purposely, and trots off after the others disappearing out the door.

* * *

Ilina opens her eyes to another rabbit thumping headache, and is immediately cured at the sight of Alistair's naked chest. She blushes furiously and directs her gaze quickly towards the ceiling.

"I'm glad you're awake, welcome to Fort Drakon, I hope you enjoy your accommodations."

"Such lovely scenery," she retorts, and her cheeks turn a deeper shade when she realizes that he must assume she is talking about the ceiling, or... "I mean the prison, not your naughty bits. Not that they're naughty or bits. They looked just fine. Just f-" _Shut up, __**now**__, Ilina._

Alistair's eyebrows have practically disappeared into his hairline.

She giggled nervously and tried, unsuccessfully, to cover her own bits.

"Well…" He looks at her pointedly raising a brow. "As long as you're wearing …next to nothing…." He jerks his head right.

"Alistair!" The blush paints her entire body, which, she notes, is nearly completely visible.

"Oh, not _that_." His grin suggests his words were deliberate. "I meant the guard."

Her eyes were wide, eyebrows nearly disappearing into _her_ hairline.

"Just get him in here and undressed?" Alistair prods with an exasperated shake of his head.

"Huh?…OH!" She comprehends, winces, and then nods slowly with a confused expression. A deep breath lifts her hand to the prison door and another sees it knocking. She checks her hair.

_Did you just check your hair? You just __checked__ your hair! Right, soon as this is over - straight to the mad people's wards with you._

The guard opens the door and eyes her the way Zevran does before he's about to pounce. "Yes? Something wrong?" And she becomes aware that she's been standing there, for a rather long period of time while she conversed with herself.

Remembering her role as seductress-to-be, she puts her hand on her hip and thrusts it to the side, drops the hand again, shakes her head; tries to thrust her breasts out, hears a bone pop somewhere in her knee, grabs said body part and looks up. She manages to smile and grimace while holding her knee, and prays to the Maker it's alluring. No one is more surprised than her, when the guard smiles back. _Ew_.

As she straightens, the guard reaches out and paws her breasts with his armored hands. Alitair moves out of the shadows, snarling. She stays him with a shake of her head and tries to smile at the guard. "Ow. Pinchy armor. Pinchy armor!" She screeches and jumps away.

Somehow, amazingly the guard can't get out of his garments fast enough. She's not sure _how_ he forgets Alistair is there, but as soon as the guard has removed his boots Alistair is savagely wrapping an arm around his neck and closing a tighter grip with his other hand.

Ilina turns her head away, wrinkling her nose and squeezing her eyes shut.

As they leave the prison gate behind, she is trying to concentrate on anything except Alistair' naked backside. It's hopeless and she decides - as she stares, appreciatively, at the muscled legs slipping into greaves - that, although she loves Zevran, she is, in fact, _not_ dead.

* * *

She's not in her rooms and Zev is certain he saw her leave the Arl's chambers an hour ago. He'd hoped she would come looking for him, but she seems to have vanished.

When Alistair and Ilina had returned, she'd rushed into his arms and then been hauled off to the Arl's study in order to discuss the Landsmeet and Loghain. She did not look happy and he had felt the smallest amount of pity for Eamon and Alistair – not to mention Anora.

Now, as he searches the halls, he wonders if she is deliberately avoiding him. When he finds her, he chuckles softly to himself.

Apparently hungry, she'd gone to the kitchens for a snack. He sighed as he watched her light snores push crumbs across the table. Her hand was opened and a piece of crusty bread had obviously rolled across the table from it. Her nose pressed against the wood awkwardly.

The mage's trusty Mabari hound rested her head on her the human's thigh.

Careful not to awaken Ilina, he lifts her up in his arms. Her head falls back with a snore loud enough to wake the castle and her arm falls to the side gracelessly. His smile is enough to hurt his cheeks. Halfway to his rooms she snorts awake.

"Zev," she whispers quietly with a smile, and wraps her arms around his neck. Her nose is buried in his neck. "I love you, " she sighs softly, her breath whispering against his skin.

He stops and stares straight ahead, trying to force his heart to start again. His blood is crashing wildly through his veins and pooling into his stomach. Mouth dry, arms quivering from being in the same position for too long, he closes his eyes and wills his body into normalcy. By the time he's under control again, her snores vibrate against his chest.

* * *

Ilina wakes up to see Zev asleep by the dying firelight. She grins at the chance to study him. His body is slumped in the chair; leather-clad, lean legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, hands threaded over his bare stomach.

_Oh my, that stomach_. She licks her lips and begins to crawl, quietly out of bed.

"Going somewhere?" His eyes never even open.

She freezes and lets out a sigh, and pouts. She climbs out of bed and plops down in his lap, satisfied when he lets out a whoosh of air.

"Why are you over _here_?" She draws circles on his chest with her finger, enjoying the sound of his heart speeding up to match hers.

His arms circle around her waist and his lips find her ear. "I have something for you." His breath tickles and excites her and she squirms a bit in his lap. He opens her hand and closes it around something.

She opens her fingers and looks at the small green gem winking at her from her palm. She turns to him quizzically. "_One_ earring?" Her eyebrow cocks at the same time as her top lip lifts, looking back at her palm. She's not quite sure what to make of it. She settles on, "Um…thank you?"

"I took that off my first mark, as it were. A naked prince wearing only that. It was just something to remember it by." He shrugs. "I'd like you to have it."

_Oh well isn't that fine. A dead man's earring. No, an assassinated dead man's earring. No, an assassinated naked dead man's earring. _She tries very hard to come up with why he would give her this, and what it means.

"So…it's um…a token of affection?" She asks with big eyes and a hopeful look.

"It's a gift…just take it. A thank you..for…everything."

"Well I'm not taking it if it's just some dead man's earring!" She closed her hands over it and lifts her chin challenging him.

"Then don't take it, frustrating woman. You pick up dog bones from chests but this..." He opens her palm and takes the earring back. Her shoulders straighten indignantly. He lifts her up and plops her on the bed before stalking out.

Ilina sits for a moment and tries very hard to figure out what just happened. She looks at her palm and taps it with her finger, then looks away at the wall. With a shake of her head she flops back on the bed and stares at the ceiling in confusion.

_Did my magnificent, cold, lecherous assassin just __pout__?_ A ghost of a smile crosses over her lips.


	26. Chapter 26

The hall of the Landsmeet chambers emerge in stark white contrast to the river of crimson carpet unfolded under their feet. Ilina's eyes are wide and terrified as she contemplates both - her body quakes.

"Just remember what we talked about, Mouse." Alistair's quiet whisper reduces the fear a touch, and she straightens her back, marches to the doors and throws them open. A hundred noblemen and women silence and turn to her. Her body freezes. She reaches for a reassuring hand. Zev's fingers entwine with hers. Her eyes catch his and his confidence squares her shoulders again.

She drops Zev's hand and tries not to stare at the colorful array of whispering faces as she walks towards probable doom.

_Well, Ilina, do or die time. Make Ali proud! And for Maker's sake don't trip!_

A little bird is beating its wings in her chest. She tries to still it - and realizes she just grabbed her breast in front of about a _gazillion_ people. Her eyes close and the blush that stains her cheeks rivals the carpet's coloring. Alistair cannot help her, she knows this, but it doesn't stop the rampant need to lean on him for support.

"Tell us warden, how the Orlesians will leave after you've invited them here? _You_ will leave us open for their occupation!" Loghain's words throw anger into her heart and it swells and pulses like a dangerous wound. The rage lifts her chin and squints her eyes. And, best of all, it stomps the mountain of fear down into a tiny little bud of squished earth.

"Me? Why you…_You_ left us to die in Ostagar. If the Orlesians ever do come for us, we'll have you to thank for the loss of half our army! You even helped that baggy-faced mongrel, Howe, to torture innocent people!"

_Several barks._

She gasps and looks down and winces. "No, that wasn't fair, you're right."

_Whine_

"No, I, promise it wasn't meant that way!"

_Bark. Whine._

"Yes, a beautiful juicy one with the meat still warm and hanging off i-." Ilina notes the silence and looks up from the dog to see a hundred raised eyebrows staring at her. She straightens her robes and clears her throat.

"Howe's crimes are his own. And what justice is there for murdering a man in his home? We are not savages here, we have a system. Howe should have been brought before it!" Loghain barely looks at her, he addresses the chambers, and much to Ilina's indignation, many of them nod in agreement.

"A system? Is part of your system hiring blood mages to murder Arl Eamon? That's some nifty system you have there! And let's not forget about your _system_ of ignoring the Blight to get to the throne!" She was going to launch herself at him and poke his eyes out with her tiny little fingers – which, she acknowledges - probably isn't the best way to get Alistair on the throne. She is mollified, a bit, when some of the nobles nodded with _her _this time.

"The blight will be ended by _me_ and _my _army, we do not need _Orlesians _or Grey Wardens to make claim on our lands after it's defeated. I remind you all who it is that drove the Orlesians out of Ferelden." She could tell he was getting desperate, and her eyes narrowed in challenge. "What have you done with my daughter?"

_Done with his…? _Her eyes widened in confusion at both the question and the abrupt change of subject_._

"Done with her? I rescued her from Howe, that's what I did! And you know it you…you…" _Temper Ilina! "_Murderer!_" _A proud smile graces her lips as she nudges Alistair with her elbow and says loudly, "Hah, bet you thought I was going to _embarrass_ you by calling him a jackass." A few gasps cause her eyes to widen and Alistair to rub his temples. _Drat_!

"I can speak for myself, father." Anora's voice rose from the back of the chambers. "And as your Queen, lords and ladies, it is my duty to speak against the woman that has defamed and slandered my father's good name, a true hero of Ferelden!"

"…"

"Oh, big shock there! I don't really want to say that I told you so…" She looks at Eamon and then Alistair. "But I _did_, in fact, _tell you so_." She crosses her arms under breasts and shakes her head.

"Ferelden has stood many years without the Grey Wardens, we've driven out the Orlesians and we will drive out this blight. Stand with me!" Loghain is anxiously calling for a vote. The nobles are rumbling and suddenly Ilina is back at the tower being chosen last for every team.

She closes her eyes and miraculously hears them choosing _her_. She opens her eyes and really tries hard not to smile in satisfaction. She fails and even manages a little bounce on her heels.

"None of you were with me against the Orlesians. You've no say now. Let us end this as it's been done for centuries. A duel. Choose your challenger!"

"Alistair is king, Loghain." She says it quietly, and even menacingly. _Alistair_…her eyes look to him, pleading. He nods and smiles encouragingly and then draws his sword.

She cannot watch and each clang of the sword and utterance from the crowd makes her wince. Her fingers reach out again, and Zevran's find them. It's only when he squeezes lightly that she finds the courage to turn around and watch.

Alistair's sword arcs in a perfect circle, drawing Loghain's eyes to it. As the older warrior draws up his shield to block, Alistair's shield deftly pushes up into the commander's chin. The snap of bone can be heard in the silence of the room, but Loghain is only dazed a moment. Alistair's middle is left exposed for a brief instant while the shield is raised, and Loghain doesn't miss the opportunity - his sword clangs against the younger man's armor and Alistair weaves back, breathless. The final assault should have been Loghain's. The older knight seizes his chance as Alistair tries to gain footing, and as he lunges, Alistair stands upright - as if he'd anticipated the move - and parries the blow. Loghain realizes his mistake too late as Alistair's sword arcs a final time.

Ilina barely has time to blink before Loghain is dead. The pity that wells up in her throat when Anora weeps over his corpse makes her want to vomit.

And then she's being asked who to name ruler and, although she knew it was coming, she can't help but be shocked that people actually want _her_ opinion on the matter. Have they seen her? She's not even tall. She talks to mabari, she grabs her boob in front of people. She's a _mage._ But they _are_ looking to her for answers, and she is filled with pride, and a sort of dignity.

"Alistair is king! Anyone who doubts that can join Loghain." She turns a slow circle around the room, finding Anora she lifts her staff and points, "And you can have your throne, you ruthless, cold-hearted harpy, _if_ we're all dead." Something grips her inside; something cold and dark, and she feels herself giving into it.

Alistair is proud, he clasps her on the shoulder and addresses the chambers. "The blight comes first before any talk of taking the throne. Anora can be kept in the tower, if…I should perish."

She makes her way to the door, carefully, assuring that she reaches the exit without incident. No trips. No falls. She beams inside as she flings the doors open wide, which slam into Alistair's face.

Alistair is grabbing his nose even as she reaches up to heal it. "Oh dear Maker, Mouse, just this once…?"

* * *

Zevran is not waiting in her room. She's curious, but not worried. She knocks tentatively at his door and receives no response. She feels such immeasurable joy tonight. Alistair is king, they've only this teensy tiny problem of the blight now and she wants to spend every second possible with Zev. Her lips purse in a pout and she decides to wait inside his rooms, doing something…seductive. She slips in quietly and undresses, laying under the blankets and trying to fan her braids out.

By the time he enters, hours later, she's asleep and buried face down between two piles of pillows. A hard slap to the backside wakes her up.

"Come on, my dear."

"Zev," she turns, face flushed with sleep. She blinks up at him and smiles. "Hello." She hears a satisfying intake of breath when she pulls off the top sheet.

"No," he says, arms crossed.

_No?_ She must have heard him wrong. She flutters her lashes.

He blinks.

And then she's hauled out of bed, her robe being pulled over her head and then she's pushed out in the hall with her arms still at her sides, sleeves dangling uselessly.

"I…" She turns and the door is shut in her face. Her eyes widen and she scrambles to get her arms into her sleeves and pound on the door. "Zev…you…the door…open it," her voice is exasperated and breathless; she's twisting and finally gets the robe on…backwards.

She glares at the door one last time before stomping back to her room.

* * *

_My beta is afk for a week or so and I adore him so I'm waiting on him to be ready for new chapters to beta. Sorry that this one is so slow getting out - unfortunately, I expect the new ones will be as well =(. Darn those college classes taking away two of my best betas ever *growl, snarl*_


	27. Chapter 27

_Author's note: This chapter just popped into my head more than a week ago so it's a little different, but then again so is Ilina. I was under the effects of large doses of wine, but when I reread it sober, it still felt right. Unfortunately, it's unbeta'd because mine hasn't been able to get back to me. Forgive my grammar and syntax errors!_

* * *

Bann Yummy-I'd-Like-One-Please is talking, but Ilina just stares at his awesomeness and blinks a few times. Apparently he asked a question, so she nods - because she'd very much like to respond with "yes" to just about everything he says.

Arl Scowly-Face is also talking, but Ilina does not want to listen to what _he_ is saying. She mentally puts him in the same room as Ser Doom and shuts the door.

She nods again at Bann Melty-Smile.

None of these people have names. They are already dead to her and she cannot list their names along side of her family. They do not fit with Alistair, Leiliana, Sten, Wynne and Hilde.

Not that Bann Awesome-Hair-Melty-Smile-Give-Me-One-Please couldn't fit in just perfectly to her family - he could, it was just too late.

She nods again.

_I probably just agreed to sacrifice my virginity to save Ferelden_. _Oops_. Giggle.

* * *

Nothing says ominous better than Ser I-Always-Have-Terrible-News staring at the fire bathed in red and orange flickers of light. Ilina thinks there might as well be a sign outside the door that says "Here Be Doom – Big Surprise Right?" Despite the lack of sign, she knows that _doom_ awaits – and doesn't it always, really? She steps through the threshold and faces it in the only way she knows how – hiding behind Alistair.

Ser-Doom, as Ilina has taken to calling Riordan, announces quietly, and bravely, that one of them has to die for the Archdemon to die. Ilina – never really all that brave – does not volunteer. She makes another tick on the "Ilina's Grey Warden Failings" list. Ser Doom-And-Gloom can just have that honor, thank you so very much. But Ser Doom-and-Gloom-We're-All-Gonna-Die -- as he's been newly dubbed – is not finished with his lovely news. Apparently, if _he_ dies one of them must kill the demon – because only a Grey Warden can do that (after which, incidentally – ha ha – they become squishy grey matter on the ground). _Of course_. And she just _knows_ Alistair better not even think about sacrificing himself because after all his "king this" and "king that" he'll be on that throne if she has to make Zevran carry him there!

So now, she's probably going to die – and Ilina isn't thinking _"Oh woe is me"_ she thinks _"Zevran __**can't**__ say no to a dying woman."_ And she's just on her way to weep into Zev's arms –pondering how to accidently fall out of her clothes - when Madam Flashes-Her-Breasts-Around announces she has "important news".

Madam No-You-Cannot-Borrow-My-Robes waggles her hips around the room, giving point by point about something - which Ilina is not listening to because she's too busying trying to find the man that's obviously here for all that hip-swinging action. So she leans over and looks under the bed - and she's searching very carefully - and, unfortunately, that's the moment she chooses to hear Morrigan's words. _Not die?_

Ilina sits up a little too fast and ends up falling off the bed in a dead faint. Madam My-Breasts-Are-Bigger-Than-Yours-Haha stands there tapping her foot and looking down her nose - and Ilina looks up and wonders if she can use magic to make the nasty witch's eyes cross like that permanently.

* * *

Alistair is pacing back and forth.

Ilina is watching with just her eyes.

Hilde sits next to her, watching the pacing with her whole head.

Ilina begins to count the number of times Alistair stops and says, "Harpy"

She's at fourteen.

Fifteen.

Alistair looks at her with the most terrified expression, and Ilina has no idea what to say because _she_ is usually hiding behind _him_. And it feels almost like it was in the beginning when he looked to her for every decision and she wanted to stomp and cry and hide under Hilde until someone made the bad men go away.

"Her breasts are nice," Ilina offered helpfully.

Sixteen.

_Whine._

Ilina wonders whether to count when Hilde uses the word.

Alistair sweeps his hand through his hair and closes his eyes. "One of us dies, or demon god baby enters the word. Lovely choices, Mouse."

Ilina doesn't point out that Madam Lies-Her-Pants-Off said the baby would be _normal._ "Probably Riordan," she responds. She didn't add that Ser-Doom-Gloom-Certain-Death-Incoming seems to _want _the duty.

"Well it could be worse." She tries once more to be helpful. When Alistair looks at her with a raised brow she says, "I'm just saying." And she's not sure if death _is_ actually worse.

* * *

If she casts a wider view over the situation, it might seem cruel to ask Alistair to do You-Know-What with Madam-Kill-You-While-You-Sleep at the same time _she_ tries and get _Zevran _into bed. She, however, does not feel very much guilt these days. The man has avoided sleeping with her for days.

Zevran is standing by the fire and_ he_ does not look ominous at all; he looks heartbreaking. And Ilina's heart _is_ breaking. Depending on Alistair, she will probably die when they reach Denerim. Hopefully, she'll die with a smile.

She stands there, memorizes every inch of him and closes her eyes, the image locked away forever – a treasured keepsake. She opens her eyes again and he is looking at her, head tilted towards the fire. She wonders what he is trying to figure out.

"Hello." Her voice is soft, waiting.

She looks at her foot and draws little circles in the stone with the toe, clasping her hands behind her back. "Lovely weather we're having." She looks up. _Is he smiling?_

She moves into the room a touch, her foot gets caught in the carpet and, because her hands are behind her back, they are not quick enough to stop her fall. She lands on her nose with a big crack. _Ow Ow Ow!_

Zevran is cursing and carrying her to the bed, but she is already healed. He sighs. "Two broken noses in a week. Probably not notable except..."

She nods, tears in her eyes. _Except I did it to myself and Alistair_, she finishes silently. She wipes her nose smearing blood across her cheek. When he tries to wipe her cheek she pulls back, a little angry.

"It's because I'm like this, isn't it?" She sniffles, feeling more tears. Number five hundred sixty three on Ilina's Grey Warden Failings: crying.

Zev brushes her hand away from her face and rips some yellow fabric from the bottom of her robe. He uses it to wipe her face.

"This one is my favorite!" She cries harder. "You could have used that." She points at the linen shirt he wears. Her cries reduce to hiccupping sobs, her face a blotchy patchwork of red. The slow drip from her nose was being wiped away by her sleeve and crusting on her cheek next to the blood. "Why don't you want to have sex with me?" She wails again.

Zev smiles and tries to hide it under a hand, but she sees. It starts the sobbing all over again.

He moves to a water basin and takes off his shirt.

Her crying stops.

The hiccups start.

* * *

Zevran Aranai is caught between laughter and sorrow. He turns to the cause of his turmoil with a soaked shirt and closes his eyes, tucking this memory into a treasured keepsake box of other images.

She is staring at him – his wide-eyed doe. Her favorite robe is faded yellow from so many washes over the last year, and it is so prim and proper it reaches right to her neck and down to her feet (it's secretly his favorite too). Her hair is so many shades of mess and color that he can't tell the difference between tendrils and fabric. Her face is a quilt of mottled pink rashes and her eyes are nearly scarlet. A hiccup wracks her body, her shoulders rise with it.

Maker help him, he wanted to kiss her.

Her eyes are on his chest and she licks her lips. His smile is rueful as he moves to her and lifts her chin up to clean her face, she rises to her knees. "I'm sorry, little mage. I've been…a fool…" His breath is slow, but his heart pumps like a hunted rabbit. "…love is not something easy for an assassin." He pauses and looks into her eyes. "And I do love you."

She nods and hiccups.

He blinks.

"I have said I love you, Ilina."

"Uh huh." She presses her lips inside her mouth, waiting for him. He's so stunned he doesn't even tell her that her face is clean, simply stares.

"I…but you do not sound surprised." His hands fall to his sides and he looks at her in question.

"Oh" She sits back on her heels."Well goodness, you'd almost have to, wouldn't you?" Her head tilts. "I mean, I wondered for a while, but really no one suffers that much indignity for just sex. And you pretty much take your life in your hands doing that with me." She sighs heavily.

_He_ takes his life…

He does kiss her then; grabbing her arms and capturing her lips with demanding passion.

She is trying to talk as he trails kisses down her neck. His lips locate the small jump of her pulse just below the ear.

"Can I... oh"

His hands move to her hips, pulling them against his. He loves her even more that her body nestles so perfectly with his. Her head falls back as he moves down her neck.

"Have the…" Her fingers reach up and clasp his shoulders. "…earring now?"

He smiles against her skin, nips it between his teeth once before cupping her face between his palms and nods. As he's removing the earring from his ear, she holds out her palm looking expectant. He closes it around the jewel.

"This is like…a proposal right?" She replaces the tiny, dangling hoop and stares up at him.

He can't find a breath or even words when she looks up at him again with raised eyebrows. "If…you wish it so."

"Too bloody damn right!" She nods and brings his shirt up, beginning to blow her nose. He winces - so attuned to her foibles that he expects a trumpet sound to emerge at any moment. Zev finds himself astonished that it's just a normal sound. Then she hands him the shirt.

It's that moment that he realizes he's betrothed. He blinks a few seconds trying to absorb this information when he sees her robe fly over his head. _Consider it absorbed_.


End file.
